The Elf and the Orc
by Silverneko9lives0
Summary: How many of you like Beauty and the Beast? This is a Lord of the Rings spin off with two OCs. Full summary inside with disclaimers.
1. Chapter 1

**The Elf and the Orc**

_While escaping Orc Hunters, Morfang son of Gorbag finds himself in Mirkwood forest and meets the sister of Legolas Thranduilion, Lindariel. Will Lindariel's compassion reach Morfang, or will Morfang abuse Lindariel's kindness to avenge his fallen comrades?_

_**BEFORE YOU READ THE STORY YOU HAVE TO READ THIS!**_

First off, I don't own Lord of the Rings or anything related to Lord of the Rings. They all belong to Tolkien. I only own the following: Lindariel (daughter of Thranduil), Morfang (son of Gorbag), and Tauredhiel/Igrim Shapogataar (Galadriel's sister and the "Orc-Mother").

If you take this story seriously, I will be angry, then laugh it off because you were being an idiot to flame me for taking. All the info I got for the story is from Wikipedia. None of it is valid unless it's from the Silmarillion.

For one, Orc Women exist, hence the Orc Mother Igrim Shapogataar, who is the oldest Orc who remembers being an Elf once.

Another shaky "fact" I used is that Orcs are redeemable, but not to humans or elves.

Everything else (such as an Orc Mother) is all made up stuff.

Now that all the disclaimers have been made, enjoy.

_Chapter 1_

Usually, an Orc's armor always meant the difference between life and death. Yet armor is heavy and hinders movement, which he needed. And the armor would only hinder him further if he kept it. Morfang wasn't stupid like the muscle headed Uruk Hai. He used his head. He had a brain. Keeping his sword and twin daggers, Morfang threw his dirt and blood covered breastplate, helmet, and leg wear into the river before crossing it.

His pointy ears pricked at the sound of dogs. He ran across the river, unable to avoid splashing the water. The barking only got closer. Cursing in the Black Tongue, he picked up his speed.

All that did was make the splashes louder.

When Morfang finally reached the other shore, the dogs had already caught up to where he discarded his armor and he sprinted into the woods. He dared to look behind him. The dogs were following and their masters close behind on their horses.

The current would give him a little more time to make his escape. He didn't know where he was, nor did it matter…at the moment.

Mordor had fallen three months ago and had become ridden with the dead of his fellow countrymen. For centuries, Morfang sought a way to gain honor with the Eye. And right when the chance came, the Ring was destroyed and he escaped with his life.

Morfang tripped over a root and skipped to regain his balance. The dogs barked again and he swore, picking up speed once again.

As he ran, something embedded itself in his thigh and he shrieked, falling to the ground. He gazed at the arrow and grabbed its head. He relaxed his leg and ripped the arrow out with grit teeth.

If he survived today, he'd bind it. For now, it was more important to run. Using the pain to his advantage, Morfang ran faster than before.

He found a tree with low branches and swung himself up it.

The dogs would find it and the men would search around it, but by that time, Morfang had already jumped to the next nearest tree, and from there to the nearest after that.

He pressed his grimy hands against his wound and focused on breathing. His heart raced, but as his breathing calmed, so did that.

Even when the Orc Hunters arrived, his heart did not start to race again. If his heart raced, the action would release panic stricken adrenaline, and that would release a strong scent that would alert the dogs to him. Every Orc, from brainless maggot to the smartest commander, knew how to use scent to their advantage and how scent could emit from their own bodies.

The dogs barked up the first tree he climbed into and the Hunters searched it.

After what seemed like ages, they gave up and went on elsewhere. When he could hear them no longer, Morfang ripped his sleeve and bound it around his thigh.

He listened to the wind, seeing what sounds he would catch. The trees talked here. But he also heard singing. Elf music, it sounded like. He'd have to get out of this wood. The Elves were just as ruthless as the Hunters.

Morfang sighed. _From a pack of wolves into a lion's den…what more can go wrong?_ He asked himself as he fell asleep…

Lindariel woke at the first rays, unable to sleep well that night. She got out of her bed and went to dress for the day. After dawning the white gown of a maiden yet to reach womanhood (an Elf does not reach adulthood until they are about two thousand years of age), Lindariel took a silver comb and dragged it through her golden hair.

She wished that she could just leave her quarters, but she was afraid to do so at this time in the morning without a guard or handmaiden. Especially since the last time, she had been lectured sternly by her father and her brother. She didn't want to risk it again.

So she brushed her hair until it shined and frizzed out. She set her comb down and ran her fingers through it, trying to lessen the frizz.

The sun rose and the welcoming horns blared. Lindariel left her vanity and strode to her balcony, wanting to see if she could catch a glimpse of the visitor or, she hoped, her returning brother.

Seeing a white steed walk through with a proud rider on its shoulders—a rider she recognized—Lindariel forgot her fear of leaving her room in these early hours and ran to greet the visitor.

"Legolas!" she shouted, rushing toward him. A servant had already taken the horse and he was speaking with the guards.

Legolas turned and openly embraced his sister.

"Welcome home, Brother."

Legolas tilted his sister's head up and studied her. He shook his head. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Lindariel?"

"I couldn't sleep," she admitted. "And you shouldn't lecture me. I'm not a child anymore."

"Father would disagree," Legolas said, leading her back into their home. "And so do I."

"Don't be so old," Lindariel teased, poking his rib. Legolas gave her a brotherly push, but it brought a smile to his face. "I want to know everything that happened while you were away."

"Everything? It is not for a lady's ears." Lindariel punched his arm in protest. "Lin—"

"I'm not so womanish that I'd faint at hearing the details of a battle! I've a stronger stomach than that."

"I know. Father worries about that."

"Why?"

"He says it won't help you find a good husband."

"Father's old fashioned then, just like all the other Elders."

"Should you shirk tradition so easily?" Legolas challenged, handing his cloak to a servant.

"Should you not?" Lindariel challenged back. "You're the next king of Mirkwood and you just nod your head at whatever father tells you."

"No, I don't," Legolas snapped. "Sometimes I argue, but I'm realistic enough to listen. Unlike someone I could mention. If you're not careful, you'll marry a Dwarf!" Lindariel winced. No Elf, no matter how spirited, would want to marry a Dwarf. Legolas smiled. "Well, even if that _were _to happen, I know _exactly _who to suggest as your husband."

Lindariel punched Legolas' arm again. "Stop that, Legolas! It's unnerving."

Legolas only laughed and gave her a one arm hug. "I apologize, Lindariel. If you really want to know, you can listen to my report to father."

Lindariel frowned, but understood the meaning. Legolas couldn't tell her—father needed to hear it first. So until then, Lindariel would have to wait until Legolas finished his report to hear it herself. And it'd be possible that Legolas would not wish to relive it a second time to his younger sister, so her only chance would be to listen to his report later that day.

Lindariel, having overcome her shyness for the day, went to retrieve her cloak and decided to go riding for a little while. She asked Legolas to send a page to her when he was about to report to father. Legolas promised and she was off.

Lindariel stopped at the borders of Mirkwood and saw an iron shine amongst the river. Carefully, she bade her horse to cross it and she realized it was a breastplate that she had never seen before. Thick and rough, dented and scratched, whoever wore it had seen many battles and survived them.

Lindariel left the breastplate and mounted her horse again, crossing the river back to her home.

She looked for tracks, but her eyes were not as trained as her brother's. And there were many tracks on the ground. She couldn't distinguish one from the other. Save the dog and horse tracks.

Her horse stopped and began to snort and look around wildly.

"Hush, hush," Lindariel said, stroking the horse's neck. The horse calmed and went forward a bit. But as they passed a tree, her steed whinnied and reared up. Lindariel shrieked and her horse galloped off, leaving her on the ground. She groaned and forced herself to sit up.

She saw spots and stars. Her back ached horribly and her eyes watered. Her voice was caught in her throat.

Before her voice could be released, someone jumped on top of her and covered her mouth with a foul smelling, gnarled hand, forcing her back down. With his other hand, he held a sharp, iron dagger against her throat.

Her eyes widened at the creature's appearance.

His whole body looked like an old man's, if not for his large, pointy ears, black lips, fire yellow eyes and half rotted yellow jagged teeth.

His hair is white, styled in a Mohawk and a lock of hair fell past his sallow colored neck.

The smell he emitted was the dank, disgusting musk of blood and sweat.

He had an iron earring on his left ear, shaped like a shark's tooth, dangling from his earlobe. One of the sleeves of his jerkin was ripped and served as a bandage for his injury on his right leg.

The sharp, yellow nails of his hand gently pressed against the skin around her mouth. "Don't scream," he demanded. His breath smelt of stale blood. It watered Lindariel's eyes further, making it easier for her to cry silently. A weaker woman, she thought, would have passed out from the stench. "Hold it down or I'll bleed you like a pig."

Lindariel's tears of pain became tears of fear and she nodded, biting down her agonized scream.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Morfang glanced up and about. He still held the Elven girl down on the woodland floor. He might have to take her hostage to buy his freedom.

Deciding that no one was coming anytime soon, he turned back to her. "I'm going to remove my hand and ask you some questions. If you scream, I'll cut your throat."

She nodded her head, agreeing to his terms. Keeping the knife close to her neck as a reminder, he slowly removed his hand from her mouth.

"Where am I?"

"Mirkwood Forest," she answered stably. The girl's voice was calm but she stank of fear. For a woman, she was gutsy. "Just a small way from the house of my father, Thranduil, The king of these parts," she concluded.

"Thranduil?"

"Yes, Thranduil is my father."

"Then Legolas Thranduilion is your brother."

"Yes," the girl said, "I am—"

"I did not ask for your name," Morfang could tell she was young for an Elf and hardly considered an adult. The girl bit her lip. Then again, he barely passed as an adult himself. Barely.

Morfang looked up and around again. Still, no one came. He forced her onto her feet and removed the dagger from her throat. She rubbed it, but before she had a chance to attempt escape, he pressed his dagger against her back. She tensed again. "Walk," he demanded, pressing her in the direction he wanted to go in, which was always from the Elf King's home.

Keeping this girl could be dangerous, but it was better than nothing. With his precious sister in Morfang's hands, Morfang doubted Legolas would be able to do anything but obey his demands. All he wanted was amnesty from the elves and safe passage through the woods.

She walked steadily at Morfang's pace with proud posture and her head held high. She shivered from time to time, but did not complain of chill or begin to blubber.

"May I speak?" she asked.

"No," Morfang growled. Pressing the knife harder against her. She inhaled and exhaled and kept walking.

The sun climbed almost to midday when Morfang picked up the sound of hoof beats and shouting.

The girl must have heard them also; she looked behind her and blinked. She gasped and looked away from Morfang. "Tell me what you want. I will allow it to happen. My brother is coming and I assure you this: he does not keep promises made to Orcs."

"He will have to if he values your life," Morfang snapped. "Keep moving."

The girl didn't stop walking. "If you want safe passage, you'll be given it, but once you're out—"

"That is not your concern," Morfang growled, grabbing her arm to stop her movements and pressing the dagger harder until it began to cut through the dress. She hissed, but did not cry out even when a speck of blood began to stain her white gown. "Now stay quiet unless your want to lose your tongue."

A horse's whiney broke the silence. Morfang cursed in the Black Tongue and removed his dagger from the girl's back. He wrapped his arm around her and pressed the dagger against her neck. The girl's breathing became faster and shallower.

Morfang scanned the forest. There were archers posted everywhere and aiming at him, ready for a signal from their commander. There were riders surrounding them with their arrows. Unlike the archers posted above, they did not take aim, but circled around Morfang and his captive, stone faced and dark.

An Elf-man robed in fresh clothes approached them. Morfang recognized the circlet on his head. He pressed the dagger closer to the girl's neck.

"Not one sound," he hissed in her ear. She bit her lip and a tear escaped her eye. He turned to the company's leader. "At long last, we meet in person, Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

"Why are you here, Orc? Do you know who you hold captive?"

"I'm here by accident. Orc Hunters chased me down. I barely escaped with my life. As for your second question: yes, I do know who this girl is."

"You'd do well to release her now. If you do, I can assure you your death will be painless. It's a better offer than what the Hunters will offer."

"Indeed it is," Morfang said, grinning nastily up at the prince. "However, you're sister is in my care until I leave this forest. It won't be long now, so let us on our way and I assure you no harm will come to your sister."

"Safe passage through Mirkwood is what you want?"

"Once I'm out, I will release the little princess and be on my way. It's a fair bargain."

"I do not make bargains with Orcs," the prince snarled through grit teeth.

"You have no choice if you value your sister's life." To make his point, Morfang gently nicked the girl's skin. She did not cry out, but still hissed in a breath and her fear doubled.

But the affect did not go in his favor. "Fire!" Legolas shouted, his face dark with rage.

Morfang swore and shoved the girl away.

He unsheathed his sword and slammed it against the arrows flying at him. One pierced his shoulder. Another, his wounded leg. A third grazed his arm.

While the archers reloaded, he took the time to hoist the girl onto his uninjured shoulder, holding her with one arm and his sword in the other. He cut into the steeds of two riders, making a path for himself.

Morfang raced through the forest as fast as he could with the girl and his injuries. After a while the attacks stopped. He tripped over another root and fell into a pond with the girl.

They both sputtered and came out, soaking wet and choking.

Morfang's injuries stung. He cursed and trudged to shore, stopping only to tear out the arrows and snap them in half, making them unusable. He lay down on shore, closing his eyes and gasping for breath. After a moment he opened them again.

The girl came up next to him and he watched her movements. Her dress was made of thicker material than he thought. The adult Elf-women usually wore something flimsier, so they rarely ever wore white unless they had something to put over it. She wore white, but no overdress.

Though wet, her gown did not reveal anything indecent. What sort of gown was it? He had half a mind to inquire, but hadn't the breath to bother.

Even so, the dress clung to her barely there curves. She was very young for an Elf—younger than he thought. Perhaps she was 1200 or 1300. Perhaps a little older. Well, he wasn't going to ask. Her wounds weren't life threatening nor were they deep. She coughed a little and he closed his eyes again.

"I told you it wouldn't work," she snapped.

"Shut up," Morfang growled, clenching his fists. He heard ripping and opened his eyes again. He looked at her. She had repositioned herself so she could bandage him. Morfang jumped away. "I don't need or want your pity."

The girl frowned. "It's not pity. If I was an iota like my brother, I'd use this opportunity to run away and let the archers find you. But I'm nothing like him."

"You should be more like him," Morfang said, stepping away from her when she tried to approach him. "Should you really be binding her kidnapper's wounds?"

"You'll die if I don't."

"You don't think it's for the better."

The girl bit her lip. "I wouldn't say it's for the better, but it won't solve anything. I'm certain of that much. You kidnapped me, you entered my life and I feel obligated that I should tend the wounds of my enemies."

"Even if it's a slap in your brother's face?"

She nodded. "I love my brother dearly, but I don't agree with Legolas' way of dealing with things sometimes. Now will you let me bind your wounds or not?"

Morfang sat under the tree and the girl rushed over to him. She took his arm and wrapped the first strip around his shoulder so tightly, he wondered if she'd accidently cut off circulation. After that, she turned to his grazed led and bound that. Finally, she bound his other arm.

She leaned next to him against the tree trunk. "You could at least thank me."

Morfang said nothing, but took a quick glance at her.

Her dress was torn half way up her shin from where she ripped the strips.

Her feet are small, dainty, and white. She wore no shoes. The earth was soft enough, but he knew that Elves did wear shoes for harsher ground. Her legs were just as white as her feet and slender. Her hands were creamy and unblemished, they hugged her legs tighter to her. Her dress's v-collar revealed her chilled skin.

Despite the healing scar, her neck was swanlike. Her face was oval shaped, her chin pointed. Her eyes were the same dark blue of her brothers and her hair was the same shade of yellow. In the sun, her hair curled into soft ringlets as it dried. Her round lips were cherry pink.

He didn't mean to stare, but the girl was indeed becoming. He couldn't say why that was. Orcs did not mate with Elves, though they were very similar. Orcs were Elves once, long ago…

Morfang mentally clobbered his skull and looked away from the princess.

It would do no good thinking of the Elven girl. She was his captive until he could escape this forest. Until then, he was stuck here with her.

Besides, if her brother lost his temper and ordered his men to shoot Morfang just because he gently cut her neck a little—a little nick like that wouldn't kill a cat!—then he didn't want to imagine what sort of fate would await him if he violated the girl.

It was in his power to do, but would certainly not be a wise move.

Morfang stood and forced the girl onto her feet. He forced her to walk in a pace that she had to jog to keep up with while he pulled her by her arm.

Neither of them knew how long it took before they arrived to the other side of the wood, but by then, the sun began to set.

Morfang released her. "You're free to go wherever you wish now, Princess of Mirkwood," he said, walking away from the trees and into the glen.

"No! Wait! It's a trap!" the girl shouted, rushing at him. She tackled Morfang to the ground and an arrow landed at his feet, imbedded into the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Morfang scanned the area and noted that a group of archers were waiting for him. Obviously stationed by the Prince's orders.

Morfang stood and placed the princess in front of him. The archers lowered their bows and he backed away, still holding her in front of him. He placed the knife against her throat again, warning them of what would happen if they dared to attack again. Once far from the woods, he released her.

"Go home," he snarled. He turned on his heal and stormed away. He knew she followed and picked up his pace. She did not lose step with his.

He tried to change directions but she caught up to him with no time. After another hour of this, he stopped and she bumped into him.

"Why aren't you going home?"

"And risk never getting a chance like this again? I think not."

"Is this a game to you, Brat?"

The girl frowned and crossed her arms. This was gutsier than he expected from her. "Thanks to you, my father will never let me go out without an armed guard ever again and neither will my brother. If I go back, my life will be doomed to waiting to meet my betrothed and doing needlework. Every move I make will be monitored and possibly reported to my father. This is my last chance _ever _to see the world for my eyes. If I don't take this opportunity, I'll never be free again. So whether you like it or not, I'm going with you. And you will not call me 'Brat,' 'Princess,' or 'Girl.' I have a name, and it's Lindariel Thranduilion."

Morfang stared t the princess open mouthed. He was shocked and confused. And not without reason! Who would have expected an Elf woman of any age to speak so openly and so boldly? Not even their queens spoke so gallantly. Not even women of Man-kind were so daring.

He shook his head. "You're touched in the head," he muttered. "Can you fight?"

"A little," she admitted. "But not very well. Women of my kind aren't usually allowed to fight."

"As are women of _any _kind."

"There are orc women?"

"Yes, but they're not usually seen."

"What do they look like?"

"Shut up," Morfang snapped, turning away from her. This time, he walked slower so she could keep up with him. "You'll probably find out on your own," he added in a softer tone.

Lindariel kept close by him and did not speak again. When the moon was high above them, they stopped at a small embankment and slept under a tree…

Lindariel didn't really understand why she felt she ought to stay with the Orc. Common sense told her to go back home and forget her thirst for adventure like a good little girl. But her heart screamed at her that if she returned, she'd never have the freedom she had before and that she'd be forever relying on the stories Legolas brought home. She wanted to see the world for herself before her father became too paranoid and sent her to the Grey Havens.

With this (misplaced) logic, Lindariel decided to set aside her fear of the Orc and follow him, dangerous as it was.

Whether he protected her or not was his choice. She doubted he would since he threatened her life numerous times already in one day. But it was the start of her adventure, and that was fine by her.

The orc slammed his foot into her leg and she jolted awake, yelping. She grabbed her leg and massaged it.

"Get up," he snarled, picking up his belt. On both sides were holsters for his daggers. His sword, sheathed, was tied across his shoulder, enabling him to reach behind and pull it out of its sheath quickly.

He buckled it in a swift motion and pulled Lindariel to her feet. She hobbled a little bit on one foot before they set off again. Lindariel limped after him for a short time, but after a minute, the pain ebbed and she walked normally behind him.

"I still don't know your name."

"Is it really that important?"

"Well, unless you want me to call you 'Orc,' it does."

The Orc looked back at her and blinked. He must have thought it over, for he then said: "Morfang, Son of Gorbag, Captain of the Morgul Orcs. That is my name."

"You must have had a good career before the end of it all, if your father was a captain."

He grinned. As nasty as his smile was, it didn't seem to be the kind of smile brought by loathing. But Lindariel didn't like it. He seemed to almost mock her with it. "You honor me, Highness. No. It was not a good career. I was a lesser ranking Maggot."

Lindariel blushed a little, embarrassed by her ignorance. Legolas, she decided, might have known better of the nature of Orcs and their familial ties.

"I feel as though I ought to apologize."

"Don't bother, Princess," Morfang said, turning away from her again. Lindariel frowned and jogged to catch up to Morfang.

"I told you not to call me Princess. I have a name, Morfang."

"I didn't ask for your name, so I will not use it."

"You're very rude!"

"That isn't my problem. Maybe it'd get you to think and go home."

"I'm not going home."

Morfang stopped and turned to her, frowning. "Are you really so batty that you'd willingly travel with an Orc?"

"Perhaps I am," Lindariel snapped, crossing her arms. "And I don't think you'll kill me, Morfang." Of course, this was better left unsaid. Without warning, Lindariel was pinned against a tree with a dagger, once again, pressed against her neck.

"You don't, do you? I've killed full grown men without remorse. Do you think a spoiled, overprotected princess is going to get special treatment? I could stick you like a pig."

"Then why haven't you?" Lindariel asked innocently. _Really_, she thought, _can't you do something a little more original rather than hold a dagger against my throat?_

Morfang snarled and removed his dagger from her throat, storming away.

Confused, but otherwise undaunted, Lindariel followed Morfang. Despite his roughness, Lindariel wondered if he felt obligated to let her live since she had saved his life after they left Mirkwood. Or perhaps it was because she insisted on bandaging his wounds. Or perhaps both played a factor in her survival so far.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere," he snapped. "It doesn't matter where I'm going, so long as I can stay a step ahead of the Hunters."

The rest of the morning passed in silence. Around noon, Lindariel began to lose her footing and stumbled more. Morfang told her to wait up against a tree while he hunted.

Tired and worn in only a few hours, Lindariel fell asleep. She was shaken awake and Morfang handed her a strip of wet, bloodied meat. "Eat it," he demanded. Lindariel didn't question him. She bit into the meat and almost spat it out.

"It's not cooked," she said after swallowing.

"No time for cooking. It's better raw anyway."

"How do you know?"

Morfang shot her a dangerous look, which ceased her questioning. After they ate, he came so close, she could almost taste the blood he devoured. "If you insist on traveling with me, Princess, then you'll best learn to do as I say when I say it. You'll eat and drink what I give you, you will _not _pester me with annoying questions, and you will not expect to be protected. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," Lindariel whispered.

"If you get tired of it, you're free to run away. I won't stop you."

"But in saying all this, you promise not to kill me."

Morfang smirked. "Keep telling yourself that, Princess." After making sure she could walk again, they continued their trek through the hot, open field.

By mid afternoon, Lindariel couldn't hold back her questioning anymore. "Would you be annoyed if I asked what the Orc Hunters do?"

"Yes. I would be, but since you're obviously ignorant, I'll tell you anyway," Morfang said, tossing her another piece of meat, this time, drier, colder, and nastier to the taste. Lindariel chewed it, ignoring the horrid taste and putrid stench. "The Orc Hunters started coming around a week or two after Mordor fell. They round up my fellow countrymen, Uruk-Hai and Morgul Orcs and various other goblins and take them back to Mount Doom." He stretched, as though trying to hide the shudder that went up his spine. "They toss us into the mountain like pagan sacrifices."

Lindariel felt a chill crawl up her spine. "Would…would my brother—"

"I'd prefer to have been impaled by your army's arrows rather than be burned to death in the mountain. But if I angered your brother or your father more than I already have, I would not put it past them to toss me into the mountain personally. The only problem is I'm not ready to die yet."

"I thought Orcs were bred to give up their lives for Morgoth and Sauron."

"That was what I thought too. When I was in service to the Eye, I would have willingly gouged out my own eyes, cut off my ears, nose, and tongue if it would mean anything to him. But now…as if the very idea of death has become ignoble, I thirst to live my life the way I want."

"I know I must be grating your nerves, but…if you could choose, how would you live your life if you didn't worry about the Orc Hunters?"

Morfang stopped and turned around to look at her. "How would you spend yours if you had nothing to hold you back? If your father was not a King and your brother not a soldier?"

Lindariel pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. "Hmm…I guess I'd travel," she admitted. "Now that I'm out here, I'm really enjoying myself."

"Even though it is at my expense?"

"Which I must thank you from the bottom of my heart; thank you for putting up with me. Now you have to answer my question since I answered yours. If you weren't bothered by the Orc Hunters, how would you live your life?"

Morfang rolled his eyes.

"Please tell me. I won't laugh."

"It's not an uncommon wish. If I could live my life as I chose, I'd find a wife." Lindariel smiled. "What?"

"What sort of Orc-woman would you fancy for a wife?"

Morfang glowered at her and turned away. "You're asking too many questions," he snapped. Lindariel frowned and jogged to catch up to him.

* * *

AN: I know that Thranduilion means "son of Thranduil," but in this case, Lindariel means "child of Thranduil." Hope that's okay…

Also! I chose Gorbag as Morfang's father because I wanted both Morfang and Lindariel to both have ties to at least one original character from the series.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

She did not expect him to stop. If anything, she thought Morfang would just leave her to fend for herself.

They had been walking together for two weeks. During that time, Lindariel revealed herself to be very curious about Orcs and their culture. But whenever she alluded to what sort of woman Morfang liked, he'd shout at her to shut up and she'd obey.

Lindariel admitted to herself that she liked Morfang in an odd sort of way. He wasn't friendly nor was he kind and gentle. But there was a sort of air about him that made the Elven Princess want to befriend him even if he did not want her friendship.

This day, she just couldn't seem to walk right. Her feet had hurt for several days now, but she did not want to bother Morfang with her predicament. But today, she could barely stand on her own feet.

"Stupid girl," he growled, "why didn't you mention this?"

"Mention what?"

"You're feet are bleeding from broken blisters," he snapped. "As it is, it's impossible for you to walk right now."

Lindariel didn't remind him of his threat to leave her if she slowed him down. Whether he forgot it or not was not for her to decide or to remind him of.

He glanced around. "So far we've been lucky," he muttered. "Not a single Hunter. And it doesn't look as if your brother's hunting us down."

"I wouldn't be so positive about my brother's actions. I'm sure even the Elf Lords know about you kidnapping me by now. At least half of all Elf-kind will be on the lookout."

"Well we're not anywhere near an Elven settlement," Morfang snapped. He jabbed his thumb behind him at a mountain. "We're nearing Dwarf and Man settlements. Sixty-some years ago, a dragon of the name Smaug ruled these parts. He lived in that mountain which actually belongs to a clan of Dwarves. They reclaimed the mountain and it's been their home since. I believe you're people are at odds with the Dwarves of that mountain."

"They are."

"Even so, they will not let us go by without trying to cause trouble."

"Then what do you suppose we do?"

"I'd like to say we'd go by it under the cover of night, but you need something for your feet and I don't have any shoes to spare."

"Couldn't we still go during the night?"

"It'd be more difficult to do. I would have to carry you. I've nothing to hide my face and hands with and you'll instantly be recognized as an Elf. I'd have to carry you if you insist on coming with me."

"That's only if you don't intend to return. I can't walk as it is right now, so…"

Morfang mumbled under his breath. "Alright, you have my word. I'll return as soon as I can. Stay here."

He stood and sprinted away toward town. Lindariel clasped her hands and bowed her head, praying to Eru that Morfang would be safe in his travel…

Morfang hid in the shadows, hiding his face with an old sheet. He snuck into a house and filled a woven sack with bandages, a pair of leather shoes, a tunic, and trousers. Perhaps the princess would be able to move more freely disguised as a lad. He also took a cloak and leather hide gloves.

Hearing someone return, he climbed out the window and hid, waiting for them to go away. No one seemed to notice as he slipped away from the town.

Thankfully, they were near the river, so she could bathe if she wished it.

Morfang shook the thought away. _Orcs are not Elves. They do not belong together_, he kept reminding himself.

Over the last two weeks, his thoughts occasionally strayed to the pretty Elf Princess following him around. Annoying as she was, she was insightful and eager to learn—eager to break away from her people's prejudices.

Elves and Men are both unforgiving alike.

There were several Orcs throughout history who tried their hand at a normal life away from war and death, but eventually they were caught and captured by Men or Elves and put to death or suspected of a murder that they did not cause.

Rumor of these unjust deaths later would reach the ears of other Orcs and the outrage would grow to enormous heights and a raid would be carried out. Millions had died at the hands of Orcs. Maybe more.

However, those times had become almost myth to the Orc-kind.

Morfang sprinted across the field and out of town. No one stopped him or asked him to wait, for which he was grateful.

The town was an hour away from where he left Lindariel. He saw her resting her feet in the river. She looked up and smiled at him.

"You took long enough. There was no trouble I hope."

"The town's an hour or so away from where we are," he said. "It might take longer to get there with your condition."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Enough of that," he snapped, pulling one of her legs out of the water and propping it on his leg. The river cleaned it very well. Apart from blisters, her feet were cut and some of the wounds were infected. He pulled out a vial of Orkish medicine and dabbed it on her foot. She hissed a breath and scrunched her eyes tight. He wrapped it in a bandage. "Don't get it wet," he instructed, taking her other foot.

"That should be easy enough," she said, wincing at the medicine's sting again. After bandaging the foot he set it down on the floor and pulled out her new clothes.

"Wear these," he told her, setting them down on her own lap. "I'll keep a lookout while you change, but be quick."

He gently set her legs onto the rocky shore and stood, looking away, scanning the terrain.

"I don't see how this will enable me to walk," Lindariel said. Morfang glanced behind at her. She was fully dressed in the tunic and trousers, and had braided her hair back.

Morfang handed her the shoes and she eased her feet into them. "They don't," he admitted, "but they'll protect you from detection and the shoes will protect your feet while they heal and afterward."

"And until they're healed?"

"You'll need a walking stick. I can't carry you until you're feet are better and fend off the Hunters or whoever comes after us at the same time."

"And what shall I use as my walking stick? There's not a single twig around for miles!"

Morfang frowned and looked around. He swore under her breath. "Fine. But only until we get to the town. He wrapped the weathered cloak he found around him again, tugged on the gloves he stole at the same time as Lindariel's new clothes, and knelt in front of her, waiting for her to climb onto his back.

Lindariel limped over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He stood easily and they walked to the town.

He didn't know when, but as they walked, he noticed that the princess was far too quiet. Glancing behind him, Morfang rolled his eyes and shook his head. Lindariel had fallen asleep.

He still battled with his conscious, wondering why he kept her around. He couldn't explain it. Her people persecuted his merely because they weren't…weren't…

Why did Elves persecute Orcs? Why the prejudice?

Whatever the reason, his people were put to death merely for existing, as far as he knew. Because they were expected to be evil—because they were labeled as dangerous since their birth—Orcs had become what the people believed them to be.

And yet, when no one else would show him mercy simply because he existed and suffered, along comes this spoiled little Elf princess who saved his life after he threatened hers. Surely, no matter how annoying she got, no matter how many times he vowed to kill her, he could never raise his hand to his dagger and just stab her heart and leave her to the wilderness.

Morfang pushed his curiosity out of his mind and concentrated on getting to the town.

By the time he returned, the sun had set and people were heading for inns and their homes. He took them into an inn and asked the bartender to show them a room. It was easy to tell the man that he was simply a Ranger who smoked heavily. It convinced him about Morfang's scratchy voice at least. He did not ask about Lindariel, who still slept peacefully on the bed.

Morfang crossed his arms and shook his head. "What am I to do with you?" he whispered, staring at the unconscious princess.

Now that they reached a town, it should be easy to leave her here in the town. Eventually her family would find her and take her home. Eventually, someone would realize that she was Elvish Royalty and find a way to get her home.

Unless the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain got wind of her and decided to hold her hostage against Thranduil.

Morfang went downstairs and left the inn, saying he'd be back soon and that to give Lindariel anything she wanted to eat. Payment would be made when they left (he may be an orc, but he had to travel too, even if unwelcomed. Orcs would steal the money off of their victims and kept it with them for when it was needed).

He found a shop still open, but ready to close. He quickly selected a slender walking stick and lay the coins on the counter before walking out with it, ignoring the, "pleasure doing business with you, Sir," that the owner said to his back.

As Morfang walked back to the inn, he began to smell a scent that he did not recognize. He stopped and sniffed the air loudly. _Dwarves_, he thought. _Did they recognize me?_

A dwarf passed by, but said nothing to him. Morfang shook his head, laughing at his own paranoia, chasing it away. No one would recognize him. There hadn't been an Orc around in these parts for nearly sixty years. Not since the Battle of the Five Armies.

Morfang returned to the inn and to the room he requested. Lindariel began to stir when he entered. He glanced at her and she sat up.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Who knows," Morfang said, resting the walking stick against the wall. "Since I started carrying you here, most likely."

Lindariel blushed. "I'm sorry!" she said, "I didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"Enough with the apologies!" Morfang shouted. Lindariel winced and opened her mouth again, but stopped herself and bit her bottom lip.

Morfang sat at the table and stared out the window. After a moment, he glanced back at Lindariel. "Are you hungry?"

"A little bit," she admitted.

"There's a walking stick there," he jerked his head over at the stick. Lindariel looked at it. "Use that to help you walk."

Lindariel stood and winced. Carefully, she walked over to the wall and grabbed the stick before heading downstairs.

After she left, Morfang leaned back in his seat and wondered why it was that the Princess enticed him so much. Surely it had to be because she saved his life. Surely it had to be that she didn't judge him for what he was.

But then why did he feel compelled to take her with him on his journey? Why did he feel the need to have her by his side?

It's not as though he was falling in love with her.

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Lindariel took a seat, resting the stick against her chair and called the bartender over. She ordered some stew and sweet wine.

While she waited a Dwarf approached her. "You wouldn't happen to be Lady Lindariel, would you, Lass?"

Lindariel blinked, turning to him. "Do I know you, Sir Dwarf?"

"No. I know of your brother," he said taking a seat across from her. "Legolas sent a messenger to us, saying that you were kidnapped by an Orc."

"That's—" Lindariel stopped herself from shouting and looked around. "That's not entirely untrue," she admitted, "But he released me. I chose to go with him. Please, tell my brother not to worry."

The Dwarf frowned and shook his head. "Your brother was rather specific—"

"Since when have Dwarves taken orders from Elves?" Lindariel snapped.

"Not orders," he corrected, "requests. You're brother is a good friend of a friend of mine."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I've never been acquainted with any Dwarf who claimed to be on friendly terms with my brother."

The Dwarf laughed. "I forgot to introduce myself! Dolir, at your service, Lady Lindariel."

"Then I thank you, Dolir, for your concern, but I do not intend to return home just yet."

"But to travel with an o—"

"It was my decision," Lindariel interrupted. Her order arrived and she began to eat. "If I go back now, my brother and my father both will do everything they can to keep me under tight surveillance. I want to see the world before I relinquish my freedom. You don't have to tell my brother you've seen me. In fact, I beg you not to."

Dolir did not back down. "We were told that the Orc threatened your life."

"Only until he let me go when we left the forest. He hasn't threatened my life since then. He did say he'd leave me if I dragged him down, but he has not pulled through this threat either."

Dolir blinked, as though surprised that Morfang's threats had been empty. "He hasn't done a thing or harmed you since you left Mirkwood?"

"Nothing that would endanger me," Lindariel said. "Unless getting me some shoes is considered harmful."

Dolir stroked his beard. "Elves are not forgiving to Orcs."

"I know what my people and what Men think of Orcs. I used to think the same, but I'm curious of their culture."

Dolir took out a dagger and gave it to her. "Normally, I wouldn't allow a maiden to go with an Orc, but here. If his behavior changes for the worst, use it to your defense."

Lindariel hesitated to take the dagger. But after a moment, she tucked it under her belt, concealed from prying eyes.

"Use it only when you feel the need for it," he said. "Good luck on your quest, Lady Lindariel."

"Thank you."

Dolir left. Lindariel finished eating and returned to the room, leaning on the staff for support. She knocked and Morfang barked at her to come in.

He was sharpening his own weapons. "You feel stronger now, I hope," he said. He still wore the cloak hiding his face and the gloves. With this get up, he looked much like a Ranger.

"Much," Lindariel said, limping over to the bed. "I think I'd still slow you down," she whispered. Morfang nodded.

"You will. I'd get a horse, but horses fear my kind. Wargs would be easier to acquire, but then it'd stand out and the Hunters will try to catch up."

"You forget that I am an Elf and can calm animals with my voice," Lindariel said, smiling at him. Morfang glanced at her. "What is it?"

"Do you think that will really be enough to convince a horse to approach me?"

Lindariel blinked. "Perhaps. You never know unless you try." Morfang shook his head. "Why do you doubt me?"

"I don't doubt you," Morfang said, setting the rock down and sheathing the remaining dagger. "I doubt your theories. I don't say you're wrong, but I don't say you're right either."

"So you're more comfortable not changing the way you live now? Pardon me for saying so, but I don't agree with it. I've seen you."

"I'm hardly a good example for judging the entirety of my people," Morfang growled, baring fangs. Lindariel was unfazed. "What do you know of Orcs? You were raised to hate my people."

"Were you raised to hate mine? I don't hate you, Morfang. I trust you. Why else would I have gone with you this far?"

"I've given you no reason to trust me."

"You've given me every reason to trust you," Lindariel snapped. Morfang blinked and his scowl softened. "You haven't killed me or hurt me. When I was hungry, you still gave me food. When I was thirsty, you waited while I drank from the stream. When I couldn't even stand—just hours ago—you found fresh clothes for me to wear and shoes for my feet. You washed way the filth from my feet and wrapped them. How can I _not _trust you? My life is in your hands. You could have slit my throat days ago and left me for the wolves. Instead you cared for me. You even said you'd leave me to my fate if I slowed you down. Here we are. I'm slowing you down. Why didn't you just leave me at the riverside?"

Lindariel waited for Morfang to answer, but he said nothing, staring at her in a frozen state. Perplexed and annoyed, no doubt. Morfang shook his head and grabbed his cloak.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Aren't you—"

"I'll be fine," Morfang snapped, closing the door. Why, oh why did she have to ask him the questions he'd been wrestling with since she went to dine?

Without a word, Morfang stormed out of the inn and trudged through the streets, trying to clear his mind. He had already decided that he had not fallen in love with the Elf Princess. It was not feasible. Why it crossed his mind, Morfang couldn't comprehend. He stopped at the stables and stared inside.

The nearest steeds snorted and reared, sensing his presence.

"Sir," a dwarf said, approaching him.

"What?" Morfang said, pulling his hood further down his face. He turned around to head back to the inn.

The dwarf followed. "I know the princess is here."

"Then you know what I am. Are you going to kill me? Or have you called for the Orc Hunters yet?"

"No," he said. "I'm going to warn you. If anything happens to her, you'll wish the Orc Hunters were all you had to worry about."

Morfang stopped and turned to face the dwarf, but he had already left. "Has the world gone mad?" Morfang mused aloud. No one trusts Orcs! No one gives Orcs warnings or threats first and kills them later!

Morfang leaned against the wall. During the reign of first reign of Sauron, and just a few months ago, when Sauron conspired with Saruman, the Orcs killed in obedience to their duty. Between the times and now, they killed to survive because if they didn't kill, they would be.

_They called us monsters, murderers, and beasts. But they never gave us a chance to be anything else. _Morfang's hands curled into fists. _They're all the same!_ He hit the wall and walked further down the street in long strides. His strides slowed after a moment. _No. They're not all the same. _Morfang looked at the inn again. _There's at least one that wants to know what my people are really like._

But at the same time, many orcs have sealed away their "humanity" or have forgotten what it was like to have emotions.

Hell! Morfang forgot what emotions were. Then this Elf Princess just had to—

Lindariel looked out of the window, her golden hair braided. Her Elvish features glimmered a little bit. She scanned the streets and spotted Morfang. She waved before closing the window again.

Morfang's eye twitched. "Is she really that dimwitted?"

Morfang decided it was time to go back. A drunken beggar followed him, begging for food.

"I've nothing to give. Go away," Morfang growled.

"Come on, chump, have a heart," the idiot grabbed Morfang's cloak and his hood fell. The man was sober enough to step back.

Morfang pulled the hood back on, but it was too late. The man pointed at him and shouted: "ORC!"


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

Morfang drew his blade and stuck it through the man's gut. He pulled it out and ran back to the inn.

Waving his sword around, the people went into an uproar, screaming and crying, some of the brave men attacked, drawing their swords. Morfang parried and dodged their attacks, rushing up the steps. He slammed the door to their room.

"What happened?" Lindariel asked, standing.

Morfang sheathed his sword and smashed the window. He grabbed Lindariel's wrist and had her lock her hands together around his neck. He jumped out with Lindariel on his back. Lindariel hid her face against his neck.

She let go when he pulled his sword out again and parried the guard that attacked.

Lindariel hobbled to the stables. Morfang didn't have the time to bother wondering what she was doing. Felling three soldiers, Morfang began to work on the fourth and fifth when she burst through the stables, riding a brown steed. The guards jumped back and she held her hand out for Morfang.

"Get on!" she shouted. Morfang took her hand she helped him up. They galloped out of the town, guards chasing after them.

"You do realize," Morfang shouted, "That you're headed straight for the Withered Heaths, right?"

"Dragon territory? Well, would the Orc Hunters dare go in there?" Lindariel shouted back.

Morfang smirked. "Smart." Morfang said, taking his crossbow and turning behind him. He aimed at the nearest and shot him. Reloading the bow, he aimed again. "Sort of feels a waste to just leave all that good meat."

"Excuse me?" Lindariel snapped. "Meat? Gross! Even if they're not the same creature as you are, they still understand our language and everything! They even have the same body structure!"

Morfang shrugged. "It's not like its cannibalism."

Lindariel looked at him with disgust. "Have you…"

"No, but there are incidents where it does happen. Very rare incidents, but they do happen. Humans also have committed cannibalism!" he added quickly. "Don't get mad at me! Besides, couldn't we take a horse for extra food?"

"Morfang, that is disgusting!"

Morfang laughed. The princess was easily disgusted, but strong of stomach. There were things more disgusting than eating living beings in the world, Morfang knew, but he figured to let it slide and allow Lindariel to discover it for herself.

Sending another arrow at their pursuers, Morfang relaxed his jaw muscles, waiting to see what they'd do next.

They stopped, though Lindariel kept their own steed going at full pace into the dry, barren lands of the Withered Heaths.

The Heaths are a barren wasteland of rock and stone. Once they had entered, Lindariel slowed their horse to a walk. Lindariel kept her head bowed. "I forgot the staff," she mumbled. "S—"

"Don't you _dare_ say you're sorry," Morfang reminded her.

"Then what should I say?" Lindariel asked, glancing behind her.

"Nothing. We have a horse, so we can ride for a while. Keep the horse walking, if need be, urge him to go faster. I doubt there's anything here to be eaten or drunk by a horse so the sooner the better."

Lindariel faced forward and whispered to the horse in her native tongue. The stallion began to trot, his ears laid back against his head.

Her hair was over her right shoulder, baring her neck to Morfang. For a moment, his hand reached out to touch the milk white skin. Instead, he drew his hand away and unsheathed his dagger, running it along his hand in a swift motion before wiping the black blood on the blade on his trousers and sheathing it again.

"Morfang?" Lindariel said, looking behind her. Her eyes found his bleeding hand. "When did that happen?"

"During the fight back in town."

"We have to dress it. If the Dragons smell that…"

Morfang swore. "It'll be fine, I'll tie it."

"On your own with one hand?" Lindariel tutted. She halted the horse and dismounted, forcing Morfang to do the same before she took out an extra piece of linen from her old dress and wrapped it around his hand tight enough to staunch the bleeding. "Did this really happen during the fight?"

"It…did," Morfang said, hesitating.

Lindariel didn't address his hesitation in answering, but her frown told him that she certainly noted it. "Shall we continue on?" She asked, holding the stallion's bit while Morfang remounted. He pulled Lindariel up in front of him, not realizing that his hand held her hand a little longer than necessary, but not long enough for Lindariel to take notice.

They travelled as far as they could until it night fell. Lindariel guided the horse to a small cave where they rested. Lindariel kept whispering comforts to the horse so that he would go to sleep without fear of the dragons and Morfang kept watch while Lindariel slept, her head resting against the horse's stomach.

Morfang glanced at Lindariel from time to time, trying to sort out the emotions that were suffocating him concerning her.

"I'm a fool," he growled in the Black Tongue, taking a stone and sharpening his daggers with it. "A damned fool. If my father saw me now…"

If Captain Gorbag saw Morfang now, he'd probably skewer him and disown him for associating with an Elf. There was certainly no loss of affection between Morfang and his father. In fact, the last he had seen his father was before he had gotten into a brawl with the Uruk Hai Captain Snagrat which became the end of several Uruks and Morguls.

Gorbag had harshly criticized Morfang's performance in a practice battle, which the other captains praised. Nothing he did was remotely good enough for his father.

Morfang didn't mourn his father's stupid death; it opened up a possibility for him if anything to take Gorbag's place as Captain. There was a lot of competition for that position in the army and everyone lower than a Captain was fighting for it.

Morfang to this day did not know what the fight was about, but he had been told it was over some Dwarvish or Elvish shirt. The witnesses of that brawl didn't know the exact details. But the one who did was Snagrat who slipped away with said shirt.

It was dumb, but Morfang was determined to hunt the Uruk down if he still lived these past three months and demand answers before ending his life. This action would avenge his father, and that would be enough.

But that was only "if."

There's no way of knowing if Snagrat still lived.

Morfang had been told time and time again that Gorbag truly was proud of him, but Morfang seriously doubted those words.

With this final though, Morfang drifted to sleep.

Sunlight began to peer over the rocky terrain and Morfang woke the moment he noticed light seeping past his eyelids. He scurried onto his feet and saw his daggers still lying on the ground. He sheathed them before waking Lindariel, who groggily woke the horse. The horse had an easier time waking than she did. Morfang kept out of the horse's sight, though the beast kept one hoof ready for him in case.

After climbing up and pulling Lindariel onto the horse in front of him, she drifted to sleep again. She really had no sense of urgency, did she? Morfang took the reins instead and urged the horse to walk. In theory it's no different than riding a Warg. In practice, there were a couple differences.

One being that the horse understood different commands. The other is that the horse is too loud—it's _the hooves_, Morfang decided. _It has to be the hooves_.

"Princess," Morfang hissed, shaking Lindariel's shoulder. "Wake up. This isn't family camp for the Valar's sake!"

Lindariel groaned, refusing to open her eyes.

Morfang urged the horse to keep going. If possible, he'd urge the steed to go faster, but anything he did only irritated the stallion, which never glanced behind at him, but folded its ears back. The damn horse at least tolerated him.

A whoosh of air above them alerted Morfang that they had been spotted and are now being hunted. He shook Lindariel again.

"Princess, wake up."

"Don't wanna."

Morfang cursed. "Lindariel, wake up! That is an order!" She still refused. Morfang grit his teeth and pulled out the medicine. "Fine, don't blame me for the nasty wake up call," he growled, opening the bottle and holding it under her nose. If the smell didn't wake her, the taste surely will.

Lindariel jerked awake and pushed Morfang's hand away. "What?"

"We've company and the horse won't listen to me." Lindariel blinked and looked around. Morfang held her head steady. "Relax, take a breath." He grabbed the reins again. "Getting scared or excited won't do us any good. Tell the horse to go full gallop and for the Valar's sake, don't stop."

Lindariel obeyed and the horse lurched forward, almost leaving them in its wake—if not for Morfang holding onto the reins (therefore able to keep seated and Lindariel on the steed).

The dragon pursuer roared and chased after them. Not one spit of smoke engulfed them. Morfang deduced that the dragon was either not a fire breathing type or not old enough to breathe fire. He wasn't going to look behind to check.

The horse stumbled. Sensing trouble, Morfang loosened his feet from the straps and grabbed Lindariel's waist as the horse fell down with a great whiney. Morfang and Lindariel rolled away as the dragon swooped down on their horse, ripping its head clean off its body.

Lindariel hid her face in Morfang's chest while the horse was devoured. The dragon's scales were aqua blue and its eyes were fire yellow. From its size, Morfang could deduce that the beast was an adolescent at least six meters long. A smaller dragon could make about ten meters in length if fed well. This one was still very much a baby, but old enough, it seemed, to hunt on its own. After licking its' bloodied lips of the horse flesh, Morfang stood.

Lindariel grabbed his hand. Morfang glowered at her, but softened his gaze after a moment. "Lindariel, it's alright. It's a small one."

"You call that small?" she whispered. Her whole body quivered.

"I mean it's a baby."

"That doesn't help."

Morfang pried her hands away from his. "Find a place to hide and stay there. This will be done as soon as I can make it." Once released, Morfang stepped forward, not caring to look behind him to see if Lindariel obeyed him and went to hide.

Even if Lindariel's feet were not injured, she could not move, frozen on the rocky terrain. Her eyes fixed on Morfang's back as he drew his sword.

Lindariel folded her hands. _Heavenly Valar_, she prayed, _protect us! _


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

If possible, Morfang hoped he could cut the dragon and kill it. Once that could be done, well, even a leg could last a month with only two people. However, that's only possible if the dragon is young enough that the scales haven't hardened yet. For that, the dragon had to be at least two years old.

If it's older….well, then the best Morfang could do would be to injure its wings. And stick his sword down its throat for a quick death. And if the scales have hardened, he'd have to de-scale it before cutting off even a toe.

The dragon spotted him and licked its lips again. It lumbered toward him and Morfang slashed at it, his sword hitting the dragon's neck. It bounced back, but the attack did not go unnoticed, angering the dragon.

The dragon tried to bit Morfang's arm off, snapping its jaws at him while Morfang backed up and around, trying to find an opening and get the wings.

The dragon gurgled angrily and whipped around, slamming its tail into Morfang's side. Morfang shouted and skidded. He slowed just before Lindariel. "I told you go run."

Lindariel kept shaking and her skin was death white. She swallowed. "Can't…" she choked, tears spilling out of her eyes. "I…I can't…move…"

Morfang cursed and jumped up, He pulled out his dagger and ran around. The dragon reared on its hind legs and roared. Morfang threw the dagger at its chest, but the knife didn't imbed. Nor did Morfang expect it to.

The dragon stopped mid-roar and lowered back onto all fours, growling and baring its jagged fangs.

Morfang roared back, rolling his blade around in a circle in his hand. He roared again, enticing the dragon to come at him. The dragon charged and aimed to catch Morfang with its paw. Morfang sidestepped it and bore his own teeth, hissing.

"_You're good, but only so much,"_ Morfang's father's voice echoed in the back of his mind. The dragon tried to hit him again with its tail, but Morfang jumped over it and stabbed the tail. _"If you hold back your sword and not kill, you're bound to die." _Killing other Orcs during a practice session was not allowed. The dragon shrieked and backed away, holding its tail close. _"Break the rules then. Hang them! The Eye has no need for merciful servants and I've no use for a merciful son."_

The dragon cried, its head bowed.

Rage surged through Morfang as he backed the gargling beast into a corner. _"When the opening to a death blow comes, take it. You don't have to savor it, but kill quickly if it saves your life or the life of your comrade."_

The dragon wailed, its tail huddled under its legs like a beaten dog.

_No use for a merciful son…no use…_

Morfang roared, ready to jam the blade down the beast's throat. A hand stopped him, holding onto his arm. "It's injured."

"Let go," Morfang growled.

Lindariel shook her head. "It's injured, Morfang, you said it yourself. It's just a baby."

"And it will grow," Morfang slammed his foot into Lindariel's stomach, forcing her to release him. "It will grow, Elf! And it will kill my people as well as yours."

"It can't help it!" Lindariel shouted back. "It's its nature!"

"Exactly! It will kill anyway because it's its nature!"

"Just like it's an Orc's nature to kill?" Lindariel retorted, coming to her feet. Morfang blinked. "How is it different?"

"Lindariel, it is very different."

"And Orcs aren't seen on the same level as this dragon?"

"For the love of—you were just frozen in fear when the dragon was a threat and now you want to save it? You're mad!"

"It's a baby!"

"And that's what you're basing the argument on?" _I'd have an easier time convincing her brother_, Morfang thought. "E—Pr—Lindariel! Will you use your head and _think_ if that's even possible? The dragon will eat us if we don't kill it now!"

"You want me to think?" Lindariel shrieked. Morfang almost winced, but managed to turn it into a grimace. "Fine! The dragon ate our horse! We are now stuck here for a longer period than we originally had! Why can't we spare the dragon and _fly_ out of here?"

Morfang blinked. "On the dragon?"

"On the dragon," Lindariel affirmed.

Morfang laughed. "That's funny. Very funny." Lindariel glowered. "And you're serious?" He stopped laughing, shaking his head. "You're mad."

"I'd rather be mad than a battle hardened fool! Sweet Valar! Orcs and Dwarves are all the same!"

_Did she just say I'm like a Dwarf?_ "If Dwarves and Orcs are so similar, then Dwarves aren't as dumb as they look," Morfang shouted. "Anyone in their right mind would know that it's more convenient to kill the dragon because if you don't, the dragon will kill and eat you. And sometimes they will skip the killing and go straight to eating!" The dragon had silenced, but kept cowering in the corner, not realizing it could strike or sneak away from the odd, arguing pair.

"Fine then!" Lindariel shouted back. "Kill it _after_ we get out of the Heaths!"

"All right!"

"All right!"

"Get on the damn dragon!"

"You know what I will!" Lindariel approached the frightened dragon and stopped, fear halting her again. Morfang smirked, sheathing his sword.

"Can't get on, can you?"

"Shut up," Lindariel mewed, shaking. The dragon aimed to sniff her. Lindariel shrank back while it snuffled her shirt. It growled. Lindariel jumped back, screaming one shrill, short note. She backed into Morfang.

Morfang lifted Lindariel on his shoulder and carried her to the Dragon, setting her onto its back. The dragon was still too scared of him too fight back at being tamed (which just comes to show how young the dragon still is).

Morfang swung up behind Lindariel. "Do dragons understand your language?"

"I don't know," Lindariel whispered.

"Try."

Lindariel shivered, her flesh developed goosebumps as she stuttered a command. The dragon stood and walked out. With another command in a shaky voice, the dragon launched into the skies heading westward.

"Now this isn't so bad," Morfang said, glancing carefully from side to side. "Look, there's the Grey Mountains."

"I'm not looking," Lindariel mumbled.

"What? You're not scared of heights are you?" Lindariel sniffed and nodded. Morfang shook his head and wrapped an arm around her. "You're not going to fall," he assured her. "I got you. You're not going to fall. Trust me. I promise we'll land before night."

Lindariel nodded.

After several hours of flight, the dragon curved slightly toward the south, but not too far south. They passed over a plain and when the sun began to sink, Morfang rubbed Lindariel's shoulder. "Tell it to land as soon as it can."

Lindariel obeyed and the dragon descended to the mountains. Once landed, Morfang slid down and helped Lindariel off the dragon. Still shaky, Lindariel pressed her face against Morfang's chest.

The moment they were both situated on the ground, the dragon took off as fast as it could.

Morfang stared in the direction where the dragon took off, which was back east toward its home. "I didn't get to kill it." Lindariel laughed against Morfang's jerkin. "What?"

"Did you really want to kill it that much?"

"It killed our ride. It's only fair we kill it in return and eat it."

"Gross," Lindariel giggled.

"Anything's food. Besides, it can't get worse than now. We haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Morfang, I love you but you're a fool."

Morfang blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You are a fool."

"You said you loved me."

Lindariel looked up at him, and blinked. "Did I?"

"You did." Lindariel blushed and stepped away. "Lin—"

"I think I'm going to get some more sleep," she interrupted, talking quickly before entering a small cave and curling up behind a rock. Morfang frowned, leaning against the wall opposite her. He watched to see if she'd stir and fess up or explain herself.

Nothing of the like happened and the fatigue of the journey he had with her began to bare down on him until his eyes finally closed and drifted to sleep.

He was kicked awake. Morfang groaned and caught the ankle of an Orc, thickly booted. "What?"

"Get up, Maggot."

Morfang obeyed and blinked the weariness out of his eyes. "There's an Elf maid here to."

"She's mine," Morfang growled, "And not to be harmed."

"Who are you to give orders, Maggot?" the guard who grabbed him demanded.

"The son of Gorbag—"

"Never heard of him."

"He's a captain of the Morgul Army."

"That explains why we never heard of him," another chimed.

"Carry your Elf if you don't want harm to come to her," the captain offered. "We won't be so kind to offer again if you refuse."

Morfang stepped forward and hoisted an awake and frightened Lindariel and followed the guard down into the mountain. "You're Free Orc-Kind are you?" Morfang asked.

"That we are," said the one beside him. "Since the death of the Goblin King sixty years ago or so, these parts have been governed by Igrim Shapogrataar." Morfang almost stopped, but skidded instead and kept walking. "You've heard of her?"

"I don't think there's an Orc alive who does not know Mother Shapogrataar," Morfang answered. Though he kept walking, a numbness he never felt before shivered up his spine. Never in Morfang's life had he thought that he'd one day be this close to Igrim Shapogrataar—the oldest Orc in history; the Orc Mother.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

"May I ask why you are traveling with an Elf-woman?" Skumbog inquired after they had arrived to the Great Hall of Mt. Gram. Skumbag was pea green skinned and dark haired. He almost resembled Gorbag in likeness, but his ears were pointed higher and his nose less crooked. And he was younger, just a few years older than Morfang, and not even a century at that.

"It's a long story," Morfang said. Two bowls of stew were placed in front of them.

"Don't worry, Elf," another orc named Mekog (a black skinned Uruk) laughed, "we aren't so cruel we'd feed you your kind."

"W-what is it?" Lindariel asked in a quiet voice. Mekog had already left so Morfang tasted it. And blinked in surprise.

"It is beef." He turned to Skumbog. "You can actually get cows up here?"

"There's a village of giants around the mountainside," Skumbog explained, taking a long dreg of piss-stinking ale. "They tend to have plenty of food, so why not take a couple dozen for ourselves? Thankfully they don't like our taste. Can't say I blame them."

Lindariel looked a little green and placed her head on the table.

"Course, that doesn't stop them from stepping on us if we're caught," he continued. Morfang finished the stew and glanced at Lindariel before returning to Skumbog.

"So…Mother Shapogrataar is here? Really, physically in this place?"

Skumbog nodded, grinning. "Why else would we be so prosperous? Under the Mother, we are not forced to fight like the Uruk and the Morgul Maggots. After the Dark Lord got off'd by a Halfling, survivors have been pouring in almost daily. Of course, you're the only one who came with an Elf. I still haven't heard that story."

Morfang began with his run in with the Hunters and went up to their landing on the "Front Porch."

Skumbog scratched his chin, thinking. "That's some story. If the elf wasn't here for me to see, I'd have called you a lying maggot. Especially about the part about her being the Elvenking's daughter. So you're the son of Gorbag, one of the Captains of the Morgul Army?"

"Was one of the captains," Morfang said. "He's dead." He turned to Lindariel. "Princess, you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Lindariel moaned, "take it if you want."

Morfang shrugged and took it. "Don't mind if I do." Morfang held the bowl to his mouth and drank the cooling stew. He finished it in three gulps.

"I heard he died," Skumbog said. "The Uruk he battled with is here. I don't know his name, but he's here, always bragging how he got the shiny shirt."

Morfang stared at Skumbog.

"Course, the idiot is in confinement for misdemeanor against our women. The Mother can be a nasty shrew when she needs to be, but she's a fair shrew."

Morfang meant to demand where Snagrat was being kept, but an Orc-woman bonked Skumbog on the head with an empty bowl. "Gossiping again, Skumbog you rat?" she hissed. Her voice was snakelike. Her dirty hair was styled in short dreadlocks and her ears were studded with multiple piercings. She was black skinned and lean with gangly arms.

Skumbog glared at her. "Morurty!" he stood and reached for his blade. Morurty pulled out his blade before his hand even touched it, aiming it at his throat. "Put that knife down, Morurty."

"You were about to pull it out on me," she growled. "And you call yourself my betrothed? You've a heap of maggots in your head then eating at your brain, Bog."

"Hm! Most of these men of ours are damned idiots, they are!" another female (AN: by "men" they mean males, not humans. Hopefully you got that, but just in case you didn't you know now) cackled. "I'd stick him and feed him to worms if I was you, Morurty."

Lindariel tugged on Morfang's sleeve. "What?"

"Shouldn't someone stop them?"

"Nah. Best not to get involved."

"But…"

"Don't worry about it, it'll be over fairly soon." Another woman poked her head between them. Her white hair was thing and draped over her shoulders down to her waist. Her skin was coal black and her stature burly. Her forehead had bright red paint signifying herself a widow. "What?"

"The Elf is to stay with the women," she growled in a scratchy voice. "By order of Mother Shapogrataar."

"Does she not trust me—"

"It is not a matter of trust on your part, but on the part of the men. Mother Shapogrataar wants the Elf Girl in my care."

"And you are?" Morfang growled. The Orc-woman grinned, baring blackened teeth.

"Mistress Mekrunt, Boy."

Morfang scowled, and his hand itched for his knife. No one had called him boy since he had turned fifteen. Not even his father. He'd been called Maggot and Rat and Worm, but those were normal insults. To be called "Boy" felt _far_ more demeaning.

"No need to be so unkind," Mistress Mekrunt cackled. "No harm will come to your Elf under my watch." That said, Mistress Mekrunt pulled Lindariel to her feet. "Come along, Child," she said, pulling Lindariel out of the hall.

Morfang's attention was diverted back to Skumbog when he was thrown across the room by Morurty…

Mistress Mekrunt pulled off Lindariel's boots. "What happened to your feet?" she inquired, holding Lindariel's right foot.

"I traveled too long with Morfang without footwear," she said in a small voice. "You see, he kidnapped me to get out of my father's realm and after he released me, I decided to follow him."

"Without preparing?"

"If I had gone back, I'd never be allowed to leave," Lindariel mumbled. "My father's strict and my brother is overprotective. Sometimes, I hate being a female."

Mistress Mekrunt smirked, unwrapping Lindariel's feet. "I suppose he threatened to kill you a couple times before giving up and letting you travel with him."

"Yes! Oh, yes! And without originality too! He kept holding the knife to my throat as though it was enough to scare me. I'll admit I was afraid a little bit, but hardly enough to be convinced to return. And perhaps I was pushing my luck a little far, but he never carried his threat out. Otherwise he would have killed me long before."

"Ha! He is a boy still if he isn't carrying out his threats." Mistress Mekrunt set Lindariel's foot down gently. She stood and went to a chest in the corner of the room before rummaging through it. "Did he stop threatening you since then?"

"He has after he gave in and allowed me to travel with him. Morfang is not what I expected him to be. He's generously tolerant whenever I asked questions about his people—your people, I mean."

"Strange to find an Elf that's curious about Orcs," Mistress Mekrunt said, returning with a bottle and a basin. She set the basin on the ground and measured a cupful into the basin before walking over to a stream and dipping a pitcher into the pond that overflowed with white water. "Orcs and Elves have been at each others' throats since as long as I can remember. Mother Shapogrataar could tell you exactly how long perhaps. Mistress Mekrunt returned and poured the water into the basin which mixed with the concoction already in until it was a soft golden color, but smelled putrid. She took Lindariel's feet and dipped them into the mixture. The injuries on her feet burned. "Keep them in, Little Elf."

Lindariel gripped her stool in a death grip. "Ouch."

"Hurts, I know, but it will heal your feet in no time. Now if I may pry?"

"Pry?"

"It's something that the Mother wanted me to ask you before she met with you in person—and she will, don't think she won't."

"Why won't she ask me herself?"

"Because if you're answer is 'no' to what I ask, she won't want to see you at all and will have you sent back to your home."

"What does she want to know?"

"Do you love him or think you might love him?"

Lindariel blushed, lowering her gaze from Mistress Mekrunt's piercing gaze. "Love Morfang? Elves are not permitted to love an Orc any more than they are a Dwarf." She bit her lip, trying to keep tears from spilling out.

"You aren't among your people here. And you can trust me. What I hear today goes straight to Mother Shapogrataar."

"It's forbidden," Lindariel whispered. "I know it's forbidden and yet…yet I didn't think it'd happen at first, I thought I'd be able to patch the relationship with the Orcs and Elves if I befriended one of them. But that isn't what's happening," Lindariel's eyes stung with tears and her vision blurred. "I love him. I didn't expect it to be so painful, but my heart aches knowing that my father and brother will choose a betrothed for me and it won't be Morfang but some complete stranger from some other Elvish Settlement." Lindariel's voice caught in her voice, tightly constricted by a ball in her throat.

Mistress Mekrunt clicked her tongue. "Do you know if he loves you back?" Lindariel violently shook her head, her voice escaping the constriction in her throat to come in gasping sobs. Mistress Mekrunt picked up one of Lindariel's feet and examined its sole. "Just a little longer now," she said, putting it back in the basin. "I'll prepare you a bed. Once your feet are healed, you should get some good rest. When it's daylight again, I'll bring you something to eat. Does he know?"

"I told him," Lindariel choked out. "But I don't know if he believes me or feels the same. And it was an accident—a slip of the tongue—I never intended to tell him…"

Mistress Mekrunt checked Lindariel's foot again. "There we are," she said, drying it and setting it down outside the basin before taking the other. "You're all healed up now and I'll fetch you something to wear to bed. Now you listen to me, Little Elf," she picked up the basin. "Orc or Elf, we're the same on some level. Orcs are not as bad as your people seem to make us out to be. You love him and that's exactly what is what the Mother wants to hear."

"But why?"

"Hang me if I know! All I know is what I've been told and Igrim Shapogrataar doesn't tell everything that she sees in her mirror."

Lindariel blinked. "Mirror? How—"

"It's some sort of Elf Magic she uses. Orcs were once Elves, you know. And the Mother is old enough to remember when she was an Elf. Now don't budge an inch, Little Elf, I'll be back with your change of clothes."

Mistress Mekrunt left, leaving Lindariel to her thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

Lindariel was woke mid-morning by Morurty. She grinned at her. "Mistress Mekrunt told me to give you these," she said, holding out a set of black robes. "Though I'm not sure how becoming our clothes will become you, Elf. Are you hungry?"

In answer, Lindariel's stomach rumbled loudly. Morurty grinned wider.

"I take that as a yes." She stood, leaving the clothes on a stool and opening a metal pot. Steam rose high into the air and Morurty scooped out enough stew for Lindariel to stomach. She handed it to her. "Eat that. If you're still hungry, you can have more. The whole pot's just for you. Whatever you don't eat I'll give to the girls. It's a rich broth and certainly too good for those brainless maggots we call our men."

"Do you hate your men that much?"

"Not very much," Morurty said. "They die too quickly. Or they did die too needlessly. Always going to war or raiding parties and either they return or they don't. Over half the women here are all widowed. Most men might be their grandsons or great-grandsons. I'm arranged to marry, but I'd only be able to really love him if I'm guaranteed that he's going to live."

"I can understand that," Lindariel said, spooning the broth into her mouth without thought. "Has any Orc-man gone to war to protect their women?"

"We're a war-hardened group. We start the wars. Not the other way around, but I will say that I've heard stories on occasion where a mob attacked clans and our men would defend their families. But those times are before me. Though," Morurty arched an eyebrow. "I've heard quite a rumor saying that your worm-brained companion fought a dragon for you."

"He did fight a dragon, but I think he'd have fought it whether I was there or not. Besides, I wouldn't let him kill it."

Morurty threw her head back and laughed. Lindariel blushed, slurping the stew.

"Where is Morfang, if I may ask?"

"Morfang? You mean your companion? He's probably fighting off a hangover with Skumbog the Idiot. And if not, he's probably gone to talk to that pervert Snagrat in the dungeons to figure out how his father died." Lindariel set the spoon down. "Didn't know his father died?"

"No. He never told me about his family."

"Not surprised," Morurty waved her hand as though the idea of talking about family was a waste of time. "Sometimes sons and fathers end up killing each other."

Lindariel's hands shook. "That's terrible!" The thought of Legolas and their father locked in combat chilled Lindariel to the bone. "Horrible!"

"Really? I think so too. Didn't stop me from having to watch my father stick my brother like a pig." Morurty became sober, frowning and shaking in suppressed rage. Lindariel set the half eaten bowl down, having lost her appetite. Morurty took it and dumped the rest in the pot. "Shall we get you ready to meet with Mother?"

Lindariel stood and was led into an underground lake by Morurty where several other Orc-women were gathered. Several were discussing angrily about the men in their native tongue. Once Lindariel was clean, Morurty helped her into the dress. It was some sort of soft cloth and covered by sleeveless thick hide. The skirt was made of the same leather as the overcoat. Morurty took a fine toothed comb and dragged it through Lindariel's tangled braid of hair before twisting it into a new braid.

"Now you're looking a lot prettier than before. Never thought I'd see such pretty skin under that layer of filth. Must have helped blend in at town though."

Lindariel didn't tell Morurty about being found by a Dwarf.

"You want to keep this?" Morurty asked, holding up the dagger. Lindariel glanced at the weapon and shook her head. "You don't look like you'd be able to use it anyway," Morurty said, pocketing it in her belt.

They returned upstairs and Morurty stopped at an opening covered only by a thickly woven curtain. She glanced at Lindariel before pulling it aside. Lindariel entered the room.

"Mother," Morurty said, "The Elf Maid is here to see you."

Lindariel stepped forward toward a bed. She couldn't see the being laying inside the covers. She stopped at the foot of the bed, shaking uncontrollably with fear.

"What is your name, She-Elf?"

"Lindariel Thranduilion."

"Ah," the Orc Mother hoisted herself up into a sitting position. White hair, braided in many braids, draped Igrim Shapogrataar's shoulders. Her yellow skin was scared white and her thick lips were black. She had a wart covering her left eye and her nose looked like it had been cut off. Her hair had been shaved to the middle of her forehead. Her gnarled hands reached out to Lindariel. "Don't be afraid, Lindariel Daughter or Thranduil. I have something to tell you." Lindariel approached and the Orc Mother took her hand in hers. "Are you afraid?"

"Only a little." Lindariel answered, though she was truly terrified. Her little lie didn't escape the Orc Mother's notice, but she did not mention it. Instead, she smiled with a closed mouth.

"I suppose that is normal. Orcs and Elves. We are kin. My sister is Lady Galadriel." Lindariel blinked. "Didn't think it possible, did you? I had not seen her in millennia. My brother in law will not permit me to come and visit since I am of Orc Kind now. Nor does he allow Galadriel to leave."

"You're Lady Gwedhiel?" Lindariel whispered. Igrim nodded. "So that myth I've heard as a child about there once being two Elvish Sorceresses, twins…it was truth?"

"It still is truth," Igrim answered. "I am not known as Gwedhiel anymore, but Igrim Shapogrataar. You know the story?"

"I do not know if it is true. It has been distorted after all these years, I'm sure."

Igrim nodded. "I believe you. That tends to happen. Sit, sit. You will hear the true story now of how Orcs came into being.

_Thousands of our people were taken captive in a raiding party by Sauron's armies. I was trying to help some of the women and children escape when I was seized. I do not know how many days passed before arriving in Mordor where we were all tortured. _

_You can see the results of those tortures for yourself. Forgive me if I do not tell you what they have done to me and our kin. _

_The women, including myself, were cast under a curse so that our defects would be inherited from generation to generation._

_After only the Valar know how long, we were released out into the world, our men forced to fight for Sauron and us women expected to breed males of our kind to produce more soldiers for the future. I and a small group were able to escape and returned to Lorien. At first, we were received with hate and fear. _

"_Hold!" I said in our native tongue. Not the tongues of Orcs now, but the tongue of our people. "Hold! It is I, Gwedhiel! Take me to my sister and her husband."_

_While the rest of my party was confined with arrows pointed at their hearts, I was led to Galadriel and Celeborn. When I saw my sister, I fell to my knees and cried. I had come home. Celeborn did not recognize me as quickly, but Galadriel knew me on sight. It is her power to look into the hearts of others. You know that. _

_She and I wept together. After our composure had recollected, I told her all that had happened with a heavy heart. Together, we peered into the Mirror of the Twins. You know it better as the Mirror of Galadriel now._

_Together, we sisters foresaw a hope for the kidnapped Elves' children, the Orcs. And I spoke these words to my sister:_

"_**When the Accursed were among the Blessed, there was peace. But then some of the Blessed were taken and became the Accursed. The Accursed and the Blessed would battle each other, brother hating brother. But when the Dark Lord falls twice, an Accursed and a Blessed would meet and Eru smiled on them. When a vow of eternal love is exchanged between them, the Accursed will once again become the Blessed and peace will once again reign in Middle Earth."**_

Lindariel forced herself to breathe.

"You're meeting with that young Orc was no coincidence, Lindariel Thranduilion. And the meeting was out of the Valar's control."

Lindariel shook her head. "This is impossible! How can I believe this?"

Igrim patted Lindariel's hand. "Predictions are hard to understand. Lindariel, I had waited millions of years for you and that young Orc to be born just to see this moment."

"It is true I love him, but he has not told me if he loves me back!"

"Hush, you are getting excited."

Lindariel took a deep, slow breath. "I am afraid. What if he doesn't love me?"

"There is time yet," Igrim assured her. "He is safe here in this mountain. The Orc Hunters don't know its existence. Hardly anyone who does is still alive."

"But?"

"But it is time for your adventure to end," Igrim told her. "Events have yet to finish out. If he does not know if he loves you, perhaps if you are separated from him for a short while will bring him to realize what he feels for you."

Lindariel's nervous shivering ceased, replaced with numbness. She shook her head. "I don't want to leave. I don't…I can't…I…" Lindariel's eyes rimmed with fresh tears.

Igrim brought Lindariel to her bosom, stroking her hair. "Oh, Little Elf, it is difficult, isn't it? But it is to be done if we are to know your friend's colors. We will not hold him back from going after you." Lindariel burst into fresh sobs.

She did not know how long Igrim held her. But it was a long time before Lindariel had quieted.

"I will send your friend and a guard with you as far as the Great East Road to the edge of the Last Bridge. From there, you'll be in Elrond's land. Go to the House of Elrond and wait there for at one month. Send word here to the mountain if you are leaving Rivendell or when so we can tell your friend where to find you."

A new sob escaped Lindariel's lips. "I don't want to go," she moaned. "I don't want to return to Mirkwood."

Like a child, Igrim rocked Lindariel until she had tired herself with tears and fell asleep…

The Wargs growled at each other and a couple nipped at their riders. Lindariel mounted one from behind. Sitting in front with Morfang behind.

"For someone about to go home, I thought you'd be a bit happier."

Lindariel bit out the "why would I" that itched to come out. She kept her head bowed instead, not looking behind at Morfang.

"How long will it take to get from here to the Great East Road?" he asked Skumbog.

"About half a day if we go at full speed. Maybe faster if we don't have a gang of Hunters on our tail."

"We _better_ not have a pack of hunters," an older male named Ugshak growled. "I've a wife who'll tan my hide if I don't come home."

"If you don't come home," another orc known as Nazsog laughed, "there won't be any hide of yours to tan."

Ugshak grinned nastily. "I wouldn't put it past her to find a way." Morfang guffawed behind Lindariel with the rest of the group. The Wargs took off as fast as they could.

Lindariel pressed her back against Morfang, partly because of the speed, partly for the comfort of knowing he was still there with her.


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

The Great East Road was a dirt path laden with decayed leaves. Open to all travelers, the road was long and wide enough for two wagons to pull through. It is clear of trees, which decorated the way, elevated by stone walls on either side.

Morfang and Lindariel dismounted their Warg and he led her to the corner of the road.

"Here is where we part," Morfang said. Lindariel bit her lip. "I'm going back to Mt. Gram to stay there with my mother and sister."

"And I am to return to my father and brother where all else that waits on me is a boring life."

Morfang smiled. "I'm sure you'll find a way to keep life interesting. You wouldn't be the first woman to sneak off to war. Though, perhaps the first Elf-woman."

"I've heard of women daring to do so. Sadly, I've no skill with a blade."

"Perhaps they'll let you handle negotiations."

"In perhaps ten millennia," Lindariel joked. She did not smile. "I don't want to leave. Not yet."

"Lindariel, you know you couldn't stay with me forever." Lindariel clenched and unclenched her hands, Igrim's prophecy echoing in the back of her head. "I do treasure our time together, especially over the last week or two. That time was quite adventurous."

Lindariel did smile and nodded her head. "Especially the dragon," she said.

Morfang chuckled, "Definitely the dragon."

Lindariel surprised him with a hug. "Will we meet again?"

"I don't know." Morfang gently pushed her away. "But if we do, I hope it will not be in hate."

"I could never hate you," Lindariel exclaimed. "Morfang—"

"Go." He released her shoulders and disappeared into the forest. Too shocked to move before it was too late, Lindariel watched him leave.

She climbed down the short stone wall and headed for the Last Bridge. Lindariel ran as fast as she could, not looking behind her to see if Morfang had changed her mind. She bottled her hope that he'd shout at her to stop and to return to him, or that he'd cut her off on his Warg and pull her away from the Bridge before she could cross.

Neither happened before her foot hit the wooden path over the river. She stopped when her foot hit dry earth again, turning around to see if he at least returned to see her cross.

No. He did not.

Lindariel waited until she had caught her breath to turn around and run to Rivendell. Lindariel didn't know how far she ran until she slammed into a body.

"Whoa! Slow down, Young One," a masculine voice said, the owner's arms steadying Lindariel. "What is your name?"

Lindariel gave it in a weak voice. The soldier led her to the House of Elrond. Lindariel was given "more appropriate" clothes of her station after being soaked in warm, herbal water. Her hair was combed free of any tangles that had come.

At night, she was led to the dining hall. Lord Elrond, like her father, was hard of face and stern. "You are certain you are uninjured?" he pestered.

"I would know best if I was injured," Lindariel retorted, refusing to meet his eyes. Elrond told her that he'd send word to her family in Mirkwood in the morning and that she was encouraged to rebuild her strength…

The Wargs were returned to their dens and Morfang greeted Dursnaga, his older sister, at the door. Dursnaga resembled their father with pea-green skin and coal black hair. Where Gorbag's hair was thin and flimsy, Dursnaga's head was thickly braided. Her black lips had hints of red and a long fang poked out and over her bottom lip, creating an ever present grimace on her face.

"You're an idiot maggot," she growled, slamming her foot into his head. Morfang fell down and snarled, reaching for his sword. Dursnaga stomped on his hand, getting a nice shout from him. "Anyone with eyes could see that that Elf you brought with you was important to you."

"Get off my hand, you whorish witch!"

Dursnaga dug her heel harder into his hand. Morfang grit his teeth, knowing better than to give her a scream a second time, even though he was certain she was breaking the bones in his hand. "Call me a whore will you? Hear that? That's how he treats his older sister whom he hasn't seen in months! Who had reared him herself when our parents couldn't take the time! I ought to cut out your lying tongue, you heap of rat dung!"

"Since when had I ever a reason to lie to you?" Dursnaga removed her foot from Morfang's hand and he stood, cradling the injury close to him. "I've never lied to you once in all our lives!"

"I know. I didn't mean to me. You're lying to yourself. Sweet Valar, Morfang! Are you really so stupid?"

Morfang grabbed Dursnaga's neck with his free hand and steered her away from the onlookers into their family's compartment. Their mother, Morrunt, was out.

"You know?"

"How you feel about her? I'm your sister. It's in the job description, Morfang. And anyone can tell you that she felt something for you."

"Women! You're always looking for something to meddle in!"

Dursnaga glared but didn't deny Morfang's statement. "Go after her."

"No," Morfang said, heading over to a chest to fetch bandages. "I think you broke my hand, you bitch!"

"You were going to try and knife me," Dursnaga accused. "Me! Your own flesh and blood!"

"Well, I missed my chance to gut Dad, so you're the next best thing to gut!" Dursnaga did not fight back. Morfang thought she might be shaking her head or silently laughing to herself. He didn't look behind to check. "What? You think I'm lying?"

"You couldn't gut me, Morfang, even if you had innards iron enough to try." She tried, but Morfang still heard the sting of hurt in her voice, and he regretted the empty threat.

Morfang pulled out the bandages and closed the chest, still holding his injured hand. He held the bandages out to his sister and she took them from him while he sat on the chest and let her press the bones back together and wrapped the hand thickly in a secure brace.

"You're right. I do love her. But, Dursnaga, she's an Elf."

"And that's enough of a reason for you not to—"

"No, not that. She's an Elf, I'm an Orc. Such a union is doomed."

"So are unions between Men and Elves. Yet that doesn't stop them from trying. Even here, we get news of the marriage between Lady Arwen and the returned King of Gondor, Aragorn. And don't you dare say she deserves better because you don't know that. What if you were to find that whoever her father weds her off to is…is…"

Dursnaga didn't finish her thought for lack of an appropriate word.

"The Orc Hunters are still out."

"Are you changing the subject or coming up with another excuse?"

"It's a good excuse."

"So you'd rather her be wed off to someone she hates and live? Morfang, you're brain is as nonexistent as I feared. Either that or you lack a sense of romance."

The word "romance" was such a foreign word to Morfang that he stared at his sister open mouthed. "Am I hearing things or did the word 'romance' come out of your mouth?"

Dursnaga slapped his head like one would a dog.

"Ouch."

"Valar save me! Morfang, any moment you spend with the one you love is romance. I knew I had to fear for the men for some reason, but thanks to you, I now know."

Morfang rolled his eyes, not bothering to listen to the rant that will escape Dursnaga's lips. She tied the bandages for him. Morfang stood and grabbed a cloak, overcome with a chill.

"Where are you going?" Dursnaga asked.

"Out," Morfang growled, leaving their compartment. He left his sword by the door, opting for his daggers. He wouldn't be able to hold a sword with his hand in the shape it is. _Stupid sister_. Morfang went with the Skumbog to the Porch and hid underneath the stone opening.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Dursnaga," he answered.

"I heard she's your older sister. I don't envy you. That woman's a hellcat."

Morfang smirked. "Hellcat is putting it lightly. I'm pretty sure my hand's broken."

"Is it reset?"

"Should be. Dursnaga was a healer back at Mordor before the Dark Lord was defeated. I don't think three or four months is long enough to make her skills lax."

"Why'd she break your hand in the first place?" Morfang told him. Skumbog shook his head. "Women are all the same no matter where we go."

"Are you saying that Elvish-women and Men-women are just as violent as our women?"

"Lady Arwen is formidable when need be and Lady Eowyn defeated the Witch King of Angmar if you haven't heard."

"I see your point. What about Dwarf-women?"

Skumbog knit his brow, thinking. "I don't know if anyone would have been able to tell if they were fighting alongside a dwarf-woman or not."

"Because of the beards?"

"Yes."

"I wonder if Halflings have women."

"I heard that they do," Skumbog said, pulling a flask out from behind the rock he sat on and opened it, taking a large gulp. He passed it to Morfang, who took it in his good hand and stared at the opening. "They look like any other woman save their big hairy feet."

"At least they're distinguishable," Morfang said, taking a swig before handing it back to a cackling Skumbog, who fixed the cap back on and returned it to its place. They passed a few moments in silence. "I wonder if she's gotten back alright."

Skumbog studied Morfang, not saying a word. Morfang barely noticed.

"I must be an idiot for falling in love with an Elf."

"Yes, you are. But look at me: I'm an idiot for wanting to marry Morurty. She's going to be the death of me if I don't die in battle."

While Skumbog continued to ramble about his fiancée, Morfang's thoughts drifted to Lindariel. Skumbog opened the porch for a moment and they ventured out to scout around. The moon was full and large.

Morfang stared at it for a moment, wondering, _Does the moon look like this from Rivendell? _


	11. Chapter 11

_Chapter 11_

Not a week passed before Legolas and a company of Elves rode into Rivendell. Lindariel didn't bother to look up when her brother entered the court yard, talking to Elrond about her condition.

"She eats, but only a little," Elrond told him. "It's difficult to get her to do anything, especially talking. Other than that, she is unharmed."

"You're certain?"

"Your sister claims so."

"It's a pity we don't know where her kidnapper went to," Legolas said. "If he's found, cart him to Mirkwood. I want to kill him myself." Lindariel's hands curled into fists. Legolas approached her and touched her shoulder, kneeling to her height. "Lindariel, how are you feeling?" Lindariel refused to look or answer him. "Father's sick with worry. We'll be leaving tomorrow morning. After you eat. When we return to Mirkwood, you'll be introduced to your fiancé."

Lindariel blinked. "Fiancé?"

"Glandur of Lorien," Legolas said. "You remember him, right? You used to be good friends with him a few years ago."

"I won't marry him," Lindariel said, standing. "Or anyone you or Father chose for me." She left the court yard. No one stopped her.

"It could be the trauma of her ordeal," an Elf that came with Legolas suggested.

_Ordeal? Trauma? It was nothing like that at all! If they asked me about it, perhaps they'd hear how much I enjoyed the time I had with Morfang._

She remembered Glandur well enough. She bore no grudge against him. Glandur had always been kind to her. However, she did not love him. Lindariel stepped into the guest room offered to her and looked around.

She began to pack, slowly, but deliberately. "Why can't I too marry for love?" She whispered to herself. "Like Arwen or mother? Why does my future have to be decided? Why does my husband have to be chosen by my family?"

The door opened and Legolas entered. "Linda, are you sure you're okay?"

Lindariel's hands shook. She was beginning to hate that question. "I'm _fine_." She snapped. "If we're leaving in the morning, I need to pack. I want to be alone right now, Legolas."

Legolas didn't leave, but took the cloth she was wrenching violently from her hands. "I don't believe that," he said, setting the cloth down on the bed. "Linda, can't you tell me what happened? What the Orc did to you?"

"What he did to me?" Lindariel asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. "What do you think he did to me? You're the one who tried to kill him!"

"He tried to kill you."

"They were all empty threats. Once far enough away from your archers, he released me and told me to go home."

"Then why didn't you?" Legolas asked.

Lindariel bit her lip. "I knew you and Father wouldn't let me leave the courts if I did. I knew that my life would be confined to my room like a bird in a cage. It was my last chance to see the world." Legolas shook his head.

"If given time, I could have taken you with me, Lindariel."

"But how would that be any different? I'd have five guards posted around me all the time! I'd never be able to leave camp five feet without someone with me. I'd never see anything!"

"What is there that you would want to see? Unruliness? Murder? Death? The outside world is not safe."

"That's what makes it so magical," Lindariel said, sitting beside him. "Legolas, we escaped Orc Hunters; my feet were injured from walking so long without shoes but he bound them for me and risked his life to find me shoes and fresh clothes to wear; we went inside the Heaths." Legolas could not mask his horror. Lindariel didn't notice it. Her eyes glazed over and she added, "Morfang fought a dragon."

"Morfang?"

"That is his name. He fought a dragon, Legolas! How many can say that? And his people are not that much different from ours."

Legolas felt Lindariel's head. He lowered it, his face grim. He lowered his hand. "I don't know what you're talking about, Lindariel, but you're to stay in bed the rest of the day."

"Las, I'm fine. I'm not sick."

Legolas stood and set her bag on a chair. "When I come back in, I want you under the covers." He left the room, closing the door. Lindariel lay on the bed, tucking one arm under her pillow, thinking she forgot to mention meeting other Orcs and the Orc Mother. She wondered if she ought to have told her brother Igrim's prophecy.

Thinking over it, she figured it was a good thing she said nothing of the prophecy or Mt. Gram.

Even so, she couldn't get the words out of her head. Lindariel pressed her face against the pillow, thinking. The door opened again and she felt Legolas watching her for a few moments before closing the door again.

Lindariel sat up and looked through the window at the noon-sun. _I suppose I should write and tell them I'm leaving for Mirkwood_. Lindariel tiptoed to a desk and took a roll of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell

Lindariel scrolled her message to Igrim, explaining that she had left for Mirkwood forest. Once the ink dried, she rolled the small message and went to the message tower to request a messenger dove. She approached one of the wooden doves and set the message in its mouth.

The sculpture came to life and Lindariel took it to the window. "Take that message to Igrim Shapogrataar of Mt. Gram," Lindariel whispered to the dove before releasing it. She watched it fly what she hoped to be North until the white-wooden sculpture was far from her sight.

"What are you doing up here?"

Lindariel spun around and bit her lip. Legolas arched an eyebrow. "Why are you here?"

"I asked first."

"I was sending a message. What else would I be doing here?"

Legolas stroked a sculpture's head, "To whom?"

"I'm not answering that. You still haven't answered my question."

"If you must know, I saw you come up here. Was that a message to the Orc?"

"His name is Morfang! And I'm not going to answer that either." Lindariel tried to pass by him, but Legolas grabbed her arm. "Legolas," Lindariel said in what she hoped was a voice of caution, "let me go."

"Lindariel, you're not in love with that beast, are you?" Lindariel pulled out of Legolas' grasp and jogged down the stairs. Legolas followed. "Are you or are you not? That monster could have killed you!"

Lindariel stopped and turned around, glowering at Legolas. "He's not a beast! Or a monster! You don't know anything about him or what his people have gone through! If anyone's a monster, Legolas, it's you! You don't know the first thing about Orcs! You don't know what they've gone through, let alone what their really like!" Lindariel continued her descent, almost jumping steps to get down.

Reaching the landing, she ran for the stables. Legolas kept up easily with her. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Back," Lindariel said. She went to a poster sized map of Middle Earth hanging on the stable wall.

"You're not going anywhere but home. And what do you mean 'back'? Back to the Orc? Lindariel, you're mad!"

Lindariel ignored him, trying to find Mt. Gram on the map. She knew it was north, perhaps around the Ettenmoors, but that was all she could discern. Lindariel did not realize that Legolas had seen her trace her route.

"Tell father I'm sorry, but I'm not going home," Lindariel said, saddling a stallion. Legolas pulled her away. "Let me go! Let go!"

Legolas easily hoisted her off the ground and carried her out of the stables. He handed her to one of the Elves he brought with him. "Rally an army. Send Rounien to Elrond and have him request as big a force as Elrond can spare. The Orc is somewhere around Ettenmoor. Perhaps more than the one we want. Send Maldor to Lorien to request further backup."

"My lord, this might be much for one Orc."

"There may be more, but I don't want to risk him escaping."

"Legolas! Please! Leave them alone!"

Legolas ignored Lindariel. "And my sister just confirmed that the more force we have, the better."

"Legolas! No! They're our kin! Orcs and Elves! We're the same!"

"Take her to her room now and set a guard there! I don't want her getting out!"

"Legolas! Their Leader is Galadriel's sister! You can't attack them! Brother! Listen to me!" Lindariel screamed herself hoarse and was locked in her room.

Lindariel looked around and approached the window. She looked down it and estimated that she might be able to escape by climbing down. Lindariel pulled the sheets off her bed and tied them together. She tied one end to a pillar and threw the handmade rope out over the wall.

Lindariel glanced at the door before grasping the rope and swinging outside. She inched her way down, but the rope didn't meet the end, which she feared. Dangling on the end, Lindariel glanced around for something else to grasp. Vines were preferable, but a firm ledge is also good.

"Lady Lindariel!"

"She's missing!"

Lindariel glanced up and a black haired head poked out of her window. It was Maldor. He looked down. "Princess Lindariel!"

Frantic, Lindariel glanced around and tried to reach for a particularly large rock sticking out. She tried to propel herself toward it, but the rope began to jerk and she returned her hand to the safety of the rope.

Looking up again, Lindariel swore under her breath in a very unladylike fashion and looked down, wondering if she'd survive a fall.

There was a crowd gathering on the ground. Realizing that even if she tried to escape the crowd, she'd still be caught again and taken back to her room where dawn waited for her to leave Rivendell.

Grasping the rope tightly, Lindariel sobbed…

Lindariel was mounted on a horse which she'd share with Nendir, her family's chief general's son.

"How long will it take to get her home?" Legolas inquired.

"Not five days if we hurry. Which we may have to do if she's going to attempt an escape again. Don't worry," Nendir assured Legolas. "I'll get her home without trouble. Focus on getting the Orcs ready for the Hunters."

"Good. I trust you, Nendir." Legolas glanced once at Lindariel. His eyes communicated worry, but whatever was on his mind, he did not voice. "I'll see you and Father again sometime later, Linda. Wait patiently."

Lindariel didn't answer back, but with a final word, Legolas watched Nendir and his men escort his sister back to Mirkwood.

Lindariel dared not speak at all during the time they traveled.


	12. Chapter 12

_Chapter 12_

The gates of Thranduil's court opened and the army entered, led by Legolas and the generals that had gathered.

Lindariel watched them enter in high spirits, laughing at their success. Lindariel shivered. Someone knocked on her door and entered though she never gave permission.

"You are not going to greet your brother?" Thranduil asked, frowning. Since Lindariel's return, her father had tried to see her more often. Lindariel shook her head.

"Are they dead?"

"No. The Hunters will be coming to collect them at the end of the week. I don't want you venturing out of the court until then."

The door closed behind him. Lindariel walked away from the window and sat down, hatching a plan to escape the confines of the court and go see them, praying that Morfang still lived…

Lindariel jumped down the wall and looked up. Perhaps she'd be able to scale it again before morning. Lindariel walked, her way lit by the fireflies that scurried around.

She didn't have to walk far from her father's court to find the cages where the Orcs are being kept. They growled at her, baring fangs and eyes gleaming angrily at her.

"I didn't tell them about Mt. Gram on purpose," Lindariel whispered. She doubted they heard her.

"Elf!"

Lindariel turned to the speaker. Morurty waved at her t come over. Lindariel approached her. "Where is Morfang? Is he…"

"He's alive. Don't pay them mind," she said indicating the snarling gangs in cages. "They don't know you, so they blame you for what happened to our home."

"It wasn't on purpose. I was going to return, but my brother saw me looking at the Ettenmoors on a map and figured that…"

"Hush, hush. And you shouldn't have tried. If you came back alone, you'd have been attacked for sure. I know where Morfang is. There should be a special cage made of Mithril. Your brother had it specially made just for him."

"Why?"

"Why ever for? Your brother wants to kill Morfang personally. So while the rest of us are carted to Mordor and thrown into Orodruin, he'll be fighting your brother."

"Orodruin?"

"You know it better as Mt. Doom. Go! It's further in. Don't mind the others and be careful not to stray to close. If you run into an unfriendly bunch, they'll try to rip your throat out."

Lindariel didn't need to be told twice. She maneuvered her way through the prison and found the glimmering Mithril wrought cage.

The cage was just big enough that Morfang could stand and sit, but the square cage did not allow for enough comfort. He sat hunched over, trying to sleep. There were several healing cuts and the skin had been died black with blood.

Lindariel schooled herself not to run to the cage. She knelt by it and grasped the bars. "Morfang? Morfang are you awake?"

Morfang lifted his head and stared at Lindariel as though he didn't recognize her. He tried to smirk, but grimaced instead. "Didn't think I'd see you again, Princess."

Lindariel shook her head. "Don't call me princess."

"Or Elf, or Girl, right? Your name is Lindariel."

"This is no time to be joking," Lindariel hissed. Morfang rubbed his neck. "How can you be so lax when my brother is going to kill you?"

"Who says he can?"

"Who says he _can't_?" Lindariel bit back. "Morfang, is there a way to get out of this cage?"

"Nope. Only the jailer has the keys and he's not going to give them up to you so readily. And there's no way to cut through this. Mithril is harder than dragon scales, if you don't know."

Lindariel hid her face with her hands, trying to calm down and wake up at the same time. "There has to be some way."

"Sad to say there isn't. Lindariel, go home."

"This _is_ my home."

"I mean the house where you live."

"You believe what they are saying? That I deliberately told my brother about Mt. Gram?"

Morfang's yellow eyes pierced in the darkness. He shook his head. "I don't believe them. I know you wouldn't betray us. Not after everything I told you about my people. Lindariel, are you crying?"

Lindariel nodded, wiping her eyes. "I don't want you to die," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to pull myself together, but…"

Morfang grabbed the bars and pressed his forehead against hers. He burned with a fever. _Is it blood poisoning? Could Orcs get blood poisoning?_ Lindariel didn't know the symptoms or how to treat it. "Why did you come here?" Morfang asked.

"I had to see you. I wanted to see you sooner, but—"

"I wanted to see you, too." Morfang interrupted. Lindariel blinked. "Especially since it looks like my days are numbered. I at least wanted to tell you I love you just once." He removed his hot forehead from Lindariel's.

"I don't want you to die," Lindariel whispered. "It's not fair. It's not fair that I should live and you should die when I love you so much. I'd rather die with you."

"No," Morfang said, reaching through the bars and stroking her cheek. "I want you to live happy if possible. Live long and well."

Lindariel kissed Morfang's palm before he brought her closer, capturing her lips with his. His breath smelt of blood, which she knew so well from being near him, but it didn't sicken her as it would have others.

Thunder rumbled overhead and Morfang released her. "Go. I'll be alright. Go!" Lindariel ran from the cages and climbed up the wall with as much difficulty as a squirrel.

Lindariel returned to her room and buried herself under the covers while the storm raged outside. She thanked the Valar for the storm: it covered the shrieking sobs she cried. And if anyone heard, they might think it was because of the lightening…

Lindariel woke to indistinguishable shouts. She left her room and walked to the meeting room, pressing her ear against the door.

"But that's impossible! How could all the Orcs we captured turn into Elves?" She heard Legolas shout. _They turned into Elves?_

"Impossible or not, it has happened," Nendir said. "Every one of them. Save for one, but she agreed to explain everything only if Galadriel came."

"Either way, we cannot hand them over to the Orc Hunters," Elrond added. "What would people say? That Elves are turning against other Elves?"

"I doubt that they look that much like us," Legolas growled. "Send one in! In fact, send the Orc whose blood is mine to claim in here! If he is truly changed, I will see it with my eyes and my strength."

"You will still fight with the intent to kill him _now_?"

"He kidnapped my sister! Since her return, she has been far from sane! He can have always been an Elf and I will still kill him!"

"Legolas, stave your anger some other way," Thranduil demanded, "If you cannot calm down, go hunt or something. Go to Gondor or visit your Dwarf friend if you must, but I do _not _want you to take blood until we know _exactly_ what is going on."

Lindariel jumped back just as the door opened and Legolas stormed away, not bothering to look at her. Lindariel curtsied to the Lords in the room and scurried back to her room.

"Perhaps we should see that one," Thranduil said. "The one that Legolas wants to kill. I've questions that need to be answered first. Nendir…"

Lindariel fixed her appearance before going to breakfast. Thranduil entered. "Father, I'd like to see him too, if it's alright?"

Thranduil blinked, studying Lindariel. "You heard that?" Lindariel nodded. "I'd rather you not, but since this is the first request you've made since you've returned, I'll allow it. But you are not to talk, at all."

"I understand, Father."

After breakfast, Lindariel followed her father, her head bowed, to the meeting room. Celeborn, Elrond, Nendir and the other generals were seated, talking. They silenced seeing Lindariel. She kept her head bowed and stood beside her father as he sat down.

"Nendir, has he been brought?"

"He has."

"Send him in."

Lindariel ignored the peering eyes from the other men in the room and held her head high.

Morfang was led into the room.

Still dressed in leather, his ripped jerkin tossed aside to reveal a lean torso, scarred from battle, and his white hair still in its Mohawk were the only ways Lindariel would have been able to recognize him. Clear blue eyes scanned the room and his lip curled in a menace. His once big ears were smaller. The tooth earring still dangled. Lips that were once black now hued a peach color. High cheekbones and broad shouldered, taller, less hunched as he had been as an Orc. His weapons had been confiscated and his arms were bound behind him.

"What are you?" Thranduil asked. "Are you an Orc or an Elf?"

"I am an Orc." The voice that escaped his lips was not the growl that usually came from Morfang's mouth. It wasn't scratchy, but smooth and deep.

"But you stand before us an Elf," Elrond said.

"I do not know how this happened. I went to sleep last night an Orc and when I woke, everyone I knew had become an Elf, including myself.

"Could you guess?"

Morfang blinked and glanced at Lindariel quickly before shaking his head. "No. Nothing comes to mind."

"Absolutely nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing," Morfang said. "Ask the Orc Mother if you want answers."

"The Orc Mother," Celeborn said, "has already been asked. She will not speak with us until my wife comes to provide answers which we cannot wait for. You are certain you cannot tell us how this miracle happened."

"I wish I had answers myself," Morfang said.

He was led away and the men followed him out with the guard. Lindariel bit her lip. Should she have spoken up though she had been told not to?

Lindariel shook her head. Doing so would have revealed that she left the court in the middle of the night and had gone to see Morfang.

It was best that she kept silent until the answers that were sure to come once Galadriel arrived.


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

While they waited for Galadriel, the former Orcs were kept in their cages, assumed to still be dangerous until noted otherwise.

Lindariel was locked in her room and would not be released. Her meals were brought to her by servants and her only other visitors were her father and Legolas (who was still in a bad mood at the delay of handing out justice).

She wondered if they guessed that the mysterious transformation of the Orcs had something to do with her relationship with Morfang.

Three weeks passed until Lindariel was released on the pretext that she was summoned to meet with Galadriel and Igrim.

Galadriel, undaunted by Igrim's deformity, petted her sleeping sister's hair. Lindariel curtsied to the sisters and Igrim was woken. Lindariel straightened, but kept her head down. She sat up, hunched over hag-like, her white hair draping her shoulders.

Galadriel stood, approaching Lindariel. She cupped Lindariel's chin and lifted it. Galadriel smiled. "_Aman ier lle en'ilya i'inya_, Lindariel Thranduilion. Your actions have rescued countless lives from the flames of Orodruin."

"How did you know it was me?"

"My sister," Galadriel said. "Informed me of your presence at Mount Gram a month ago. She was convinced that you are the one spoken of. Do you not understand what had been said?"

"I did understand. I still do. I thought that…"

"That once the Orcs were Elves again, peace would follow only seconds later?" Igrim asked. "There is still much that is doubted. There will perhaps forever be mistrust, but in time that mistrust will be forgotten."

Lindariel did not move, but focused on her breathing. "Will you tell my father of the prophecy?"

"If it comes to it," Igrim said. "But no prophecy is believed until it comes to pass."

"And that the Orcs have transformed into Elves is not proof that the prophecy is past?" Lindariel asked. "That should be enough."

"How will you explain that it came to pass?" Galadriel asked. "Against your father's orders, you escaped your house and went to see Morfang. Was it not _then _that the prophecy came to pass? To reveal the prophecy would be to reveal your disobedience."

Lindariel stared at the ground, frowning. "Then let my disobedience come to light," she said. "Whatever punishment my father devises for me, I will take it."

Galadriel and Igrim exchanged looks. Igrim stood and approached Galadriel, leaning on her staff. "And if that punishment is to never see the one you love again, what would you do? Would you take your life? Or would you defy your father's orders again?"

"I would not take my life unless I had no choice," Lindariel admitted. "Do you think that my father would really…" Lindariel felt a lump build in her throat and she cut the sentence off.

Galadriel and Igrim exchanged a glance. "Your trial has not yet come to an end," Igrim assured Lindariel.

"There is yet one more obstacle to overcome," Galadriel added. "For even if your father accepts your love for Morfang, your brother will not."

"Legolas Thranduilion is controlled for his hatred of Orcs. As his sister, to know that your heart belongs to Morfang is, to him, a betrayal to him and your family, let alone your people."

"But not all will see it as so. If the prophecy is known, they will follow your example and learn to forgive the Accursed for the deeds long forgotten and the deeds that will never be forgotten. The brother will learn to love his brother again and our people will once again be whole."

"But hope remains. If the Council is willing to accept what shall come. A duel will decide the fate of our people."

"If Legolas Thranduilion wins, there will be no reprieve for the Accursed ones."

"The survival of our people now rests on the shoulders of Morfang, the son of Gorbag."

Lindariel focused on breathing, trying to ease the pain that these words brought her. "W-when will the duel take place."

"When the time comes, you will know," Igrim assured her. She turned to Galadriel. "We should speak with the council now, Sister."

Galadriel nodded and the sisters strode past Lindariel, who followed a few feet behind them, her head bowed as though she was a servant of Galadriel's. The doors to the council room closed before her. Lindariel stared at the door, then at the guards who dared not glance at her.

Lindariel walked to the court yard. The former Orcs were trying to fend off the curious Elf children. They were no longer bound and caged. Their weapons had been confiscated and they were given new clothes. One could tell who they were by their hairstyles and jewelry and the hissing sounds they made from time to time.

Most of them were women. Lindariel remembered that the men tended to die off in battle, leaving behind wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters. The men with them were hard faced and snarling. Most of them were relatives and husbands who survived the wars and skirmishes.

Lindariel found Morfang arguing with a woman. She slammed her fist into his jaw.

"Dare you say that again, Maggot?" she shrieked. "Show some respect, you worm!"

Lindariel ran over to them and helped Morfang up. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah. This is normal. Lindariel, this is Dursnaga, my sister."

Dursnaga and Morfang had the same eyes. Her skin was more olive than pale and her pleated, wild hair was black as coal. She glanced at Lindariel and grinned. "A pretty little thing, she is." Lindariel blushed under Dursnaga's approving scrutiny. "I heard she was a doll, but I hadn't realized how much until now."

Someone grasped Lindariel's shoulder and she was pulled back. Dursnaga narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, who had a dagger under her chin. Lindariel looked up at her brother.

"Legolas Thranduilion," Dursnaga said, smirking. "One of the Fellowship and an Orc-Slayer. What business do you have amongst our humble people?"

"I'm taking my sister back to her room, She-Orc."

"Orc?" Dursnaga asked, looking around, a rueful smile on her lips. "Orc? Oi! Mururty, do you see any Orcs around here?"

"Unless they've the power to become invisible," the Elf that was Mururty laughed, "I have seen not one Orc."

"What about you, Bog?"

"Orcs…Orcs…weren't they devilishly handsome fellows? I think I'd have seen one if they were here."

"Anyone else want to add to our testimony? No?" Dursnaga shrugged at Legolas. "Sorry to say, but there doesn't seem to be any Orcs around here. Last time I checked, I was an Elf. And as far as I'm concerned, _I still am_."

"Keep your tongue where it belongs or I'll—"

"Oh for the love of the Valar! What do you know? We didn't have to be turned into Orcs to know that our men are warmongering maggots!"

Legolas' hands shook, with rage. He tried to stab Dursnaga, who side stepped him and seized his arm. She twisted his wrist and disarmed him of his dagger. "Careful, Legolas. Our women folk aren't as dainty or pretty as you're used to."

"Release me at once!" Dursnaga shrugged and obeyed. Legolas stumbled forward, but regained his footing. He glared at Dursnaga, massaging his wrist.

Lindariel shook her head. "Dursnaga, I apologize on behalf of my brother. He's usually more respectful to women," she shot Legolas a piercing look. "Aren't you, Brother?"

Legolas glared back at Lindariel. But with a dark glance at Dursnaga, he gave one nod.

"I really don't know where his disrespect came from. Perhaps it's from befriending _Dwarves_."

"Lindariel…"

"You've no right to be this way! Not one! Dursnaga and her people are as much one of us as we are one of them!"

"I suppose then I'll have to learn to get along with them as I did Dwarves, eh?"

"I suggest you do."

Legolas scanned the court yard before resting his gaze on Morfang. He looked at Lindariel again. "Very well, but only if you're Orc friend can best me at combat." Legolas approached Morfang. "What say you?"

"I'm not an Orc anymore, but I have never backed away from a challenge. I'm not about to start. I accept."

Legolas held his hand out to Morfang, who grasped it in return, as though sealing a pact. However, the look both men bore was a look of deep, intense loathing and it seemed as though they were trying to break each other's hands.

Lindariel shivered as Legolas walked away from Morfang. He didn't bother steering her away from Morfang and Dursnaga. Lindariel glanced up at the balcony of the Council Room, wondering what they were talking about and what she'd have to do now.

The wheels of fate have already come into motion and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Lindariel had no doubt that the duel between Legolas and Morfang was the one that the Sisters spoke of.

Even so, she found herself completely unprepared for what was to come, though she had been warned that Legolas would not readily accept the "Accursed."

Lindariel glanced back at Legolas and wondered, _Why has it come to this_?

She turned back to Dursnaga and Morfang. "I really am sorry for Legolas' behavior toward you, Dursnaga."

"No need to be, Lass, I'm used to it," she leaned against Morfang in a sisterly manner, smirking at him. Morfang rolled his eyes. "You know how our men are like. Deep down, it doesn't matter what race we are, they're all pompous, egotistical, idiot warmongers."

Morfang glared at Dursnaga. He shook his head. "Don't listen to my sister. She's got a few screws loose—"

Dursnaga punched Morfang, who stumbled, clutching his cheek. A growl escaped his throat.

"Lindariel, I suggest you take a few steps back," Dursnaga advised. Lindariel did so. Morfang charged at Dursnaga who stepped aside and stuck her foot out, tripping him.

"Morfang! What are you doing?" Lindariel shrieked.

"This is a typical sibling squabble," Morurty assured her. "In a few minutes, Dursnaga would have beaten some respect into him. It's a common occurrence and I doubt it's going to alleviate any time soon."

Dursnaga flipped Morfang onto his back.

"He's got a match tomorrow, so Dursnaga won't hurt him too much. You look like you're about to keel over on your feet, Little Elf."

"My brother's killed you're men in the past. I'm afraid that he'll…"

"Oh, I doubt it. You're brother may be a prince, but Morfang is one of our best fighters. He might not see it, but his father cared for him more than he let on. You could tell by the way they interacted. Gorbag was a nasty old goblin and he was really tough on Morfang. But you can see the results of his tough treatment on his children for yourself, can't you?"

"Right now, I'm not so sure…"

"Well, still, get some rest. It'll be a rough day tomorrow at any rate."

Lindariel wasn't so sure, but she obeyed, leaving Morfang to Dursnaga's tough love and heading for her room. As she passed the council room, she could hear raised voices, but not a distinguishable word.

* * *

Aman ier lle en'ilya i'inya=blessed are you among all the female (literal). What I'm meaning here is this: blessed are you among all women. Finding Elvish translators sucks!

Do NOT take the Elvish translations as actual translations from English to Tolkien Elvish or to be exact. They're not. I tried, really I did, but like I said, getting Elvish translations are the same as PMSy bitches.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

The Orc Hunters came at dawn that morning. When told of the strange phenomenon of the Orcs turning into Elves, they were, at first, incredulous.

But after witnessing with their eyes the crudeness of some of the Elves they encountered in means of manner, speech, and dress, who would doubt this miracle?

But the heatedly debated question remained: What to do with them now that they are no longer Orcs?

Some sided with Legolas in the belief that once an Orc, always an Orc.

Others were not as ready to condemn them, knowing what it was that the Sisters had said (word of it had spread through Mirkwood's capitol like wild fire over the night).

"But what if they were Elves all this time?" One said.

"Elf or Orc, they murdered our people! They burned our villages!" Another shouted.

"We'd do the same if we were in their situation, wouldn't we?" Said the first.

"An Orc is an Orc, no matter what they look like. I say we round them up and take them to the Mountain! Cast them into the fire where they belong!" Gimli added.

But you can see that some of them are children! I've a son and two daughters back at Rohan. Killing children doesn't sit well with me." A man shot back.

"Children can be rehabitualized. There's no need to kill them." An Elf added.

"What about their parents? Their women? Who among us knew that they had their own breed of women?" Spoke another Dwarf.

"I always thought they were bred from the earth."

Legolas stood, "Gentlemen," he began, "This ordeal we are facing began when my sister, Lady Lindariel, was abducted by an Orc warrior. She was safely retrieved, but changed. She keeps going on and on about how these barbarians are the same as we are. That the Elves and the Orcs are our kinsmen. I will not stand by and watch the Orcs corrupt our peace. But on my sister's behalf, I cannot yet allow them to be shipped to the Fires of Doom. First, I will fight her kidnapper. Mark my words, I will win. And then, we can decide what to do with the rest of them. But the one they call Morfang, son of Gorbag, is my quarry alone."

"Let's say that you don't," Thranduil snapped. "What will become of them then?"

"Let my sister decide that! But I won't lose, Father."

"Calm down, Las," Gimli said. "No one doubts your skill."

"Of all things, I never thought I'd see a Dwarf telling an Elf to calm down."

"It's a sight to remember, that is."

"When is this duel to take place, Legolas?" Elrond inquired. "Prearranged battles take time to plan out."

"The sooner, the better. Get this duel over with!" Several had said. Most of them were those who sided with Legolas. Others just wanted to get a decision decided rather than argue amongst themselves. "Send in the Orc! Tell him to choose his weapons!"

Thranduil stood and the roaring men silenced. "In the afternoon, then, we shall have the duel my son seeks." He turned to Legolas, "Use the time wisely."

"I will, Father," Legolas said. He stood and bowed before leaving the room. Thranduil motioned to a guard.

"Alert the man Morfang that Legolas will fight him at noon for the fate of his people." The guard left for the court yard.

Thranduil stood at the balcony while the others filed out o the room, watching the people below him. He spotted Lindariel talking to the one named Morfang. Thranduil wasn't so sure if letting Legolas fight was the right thing to do. And after all, if what Galadriel and the Orc woman Igrim said is true…

Thranduil stepped away from the balcony, deciding to join the others.

The duel had been barred off from the people, save for those at the council and the duelers family. Lindariel noted Dursnaga amongst the two women speaking with Morfang. The other, a light haired woman with an array of braids down her back, could only be their mother. Morfang's mother glanced behind at them and snarled.

Lindariel didn't think she had ever seen a more powerful looking woman in her life. Lindariel averted her gaze to her hands, unable to look at the woman in the eye. She and Dursnaga approached them.

"I'm not easy letting the women watch," one of the councilmen mumbled with a glance at Lindariel and Morfang's family.

"They're involved, never the less," Thranduil said to him. "Where is Legolas?"

"He'll be here," Lindariel whispered. "There is still time, which is what I fear."

"Why is that?"

"You said that Legolas is set on winning. He's most likely using the time to gather an unfair advantage."

"Do you not wish your brother victory?"

Lindariel shivered, but shook her head. She did not. "Does that make me treacherous?"

Thranduil did not answer her question. Lindariel felt an unwarranted shame. But why? She did not want Legolas to win because it would mean Morfang's death and most likely the death of his people. At this time, Lindariel felt that her loyalty was being stretched in two and could break at any moment.

Legolas entered the coliseum, his weapons ready.

Morfang grinned at him, swinging a metallic, symmetrical orc-blade. The metal was not polished; rather it was stained and dark.

Nadir held up a white flag. When he dropped his arm, Legolas and Morfang charged. The metal clashed against each other.

Lindariel winced, and covered her eyes.

She peeked through her parted fingers. Legolas had forced Morfang down to his knees. Morfang held the hilt of his blade in one hand and pressed against Legolas' blade with the other.

Getting nowhere with pressing down on Morfang's blade, Legolas opted for another tactic and brought his blade up. Morfang somersaulted away and got back on his feet, not waiting for Legolas to attack again. He aimed his sword for Legolas' stomach. Legolas side stepped again. Morfang swung his blade around and Legolas blocked. But the force of blow made him stumble back a little.

The frustration on Legolas' face was clear. One could see that something Morfang was doing had inhibited his attack. But what exactly it was, none but Legolas knew.

Morfang swung his sword again, aiming to decapitate Legolas. Legolas ducked and slammed his foot into Morfang's shin. Morfang howled and hobbled away. Legolas aimed to cut Morfang's arm clean off, but Morfang dodged again, taking a dagger out and throwing it at Legolas, who hit it with his sword. The dagger returned to Morfang, who dodged it just so it wouldn't hit his heart, but the knife still found his shoulder.

Morfang hissed a breath and pulled it out, almost missing Legolas' assault at his head. He barely caught it. A shriek which was not intended to escape Lindariel's lips pierced the silence. It shocked the fighters, but Morfang recovered first and tackled Legolas to the ground.

He prepared to stab Legolas, but his hand halted before the blade penetrated Legolas' skin.

"Why are you hesitating?"

Morfang wondered that himself. Hesitation could bring death. That is what he had been taught since birth. He glanced at Lindariel and scoffed, lowering his blade to his side. "What would that prove? I'd honestly would _love _to cut out your heart. But then what would happen to my family? What would happen to my friends?"

Legolas stood, still glaring at Morfang, who glared back.

"I can't let you kill them, yet I can't kill you."

Legolas snarled and stood back up, grasping his sword in a death grip. He charged at Morfang, aiming for Morfang's gut. Morfang dodged, but still got cut by the blade. Though not fatal, the wound seeped blood.

"Legolas! Enough!" Thranduil shouted. Legolas didn't heed, ready to cut Morfang again.

Lindariel grit her teeth and jumped from her seat. Thranduil caught her before she could get between the fighters.

"Legolas! No!" Lindariel shouted. Morfang jumped away from Legolas' furious cuts, Morfang blocked with his sword.

Dursnaga glanced at the council. "You've seen my brother's conviction. Are you going to let that…that…that maggot you call a prince get away with murdering a man who's decided to spare his life?"

"It's against our laws to intervene," Nadir said.

"That's my brother he's fighting! You think I'll—" The widowed mother grasped Dursnaga's shoulder and forced her back in her seat. "Mother?"

"Maybe it is your law, but for many years now, it has not been the law of the Orc." She stepped down and unsheathed Nadir's blade, approaching the fighters.

She slammed the hilt of the sword against Legolas' cranium. He crumpled to the ground. Before Morfang could retort, she slammed her elbow into his stomach. She turned to the council. "This battle was won by my son. Now make your decision of what will happen to my people now that we are no longer monsters in your eyes."

Several of the council members protested violently. The mother slammed the blade into the ground, embedding the sword into the earth. With one hand on the hilt and the other on top of that hand, bright eyes narrowed dangerously, the council slowly succumbed to the authority she bore.

"In the name of the Orc-Mother, Igrim Shapogrataar, I, Sharog the wife of Gorbag, demand your answers. On the outcome of this duel, will my people be subjected to the burning flames of Orodruin or shall we be reinitiated into the realm of the Elves and sail with them to the West? What say you?"

The council glanced at each other, not sure what to do with Sharog's demand. Some dared to look back at her piercing stare. Many felt like they had been returned to the hands of their mothers and fathers who exercised rigorous discipline.

Behind her, Morfang and Legolas were regaining their footing, their hands still on their weapons.

Celeborn stood. "You are a strange woman to demand answers from men."

"My people may seem as patriarchal as yours, but we have always been matriarchal to some degree. Our women make it sure that our men do not forget who it was who birthed them."

Celeborn glanced at the others. "I have decided from the moment the prophecy my wife and sister in law spoke of came to pass: I see no Orcs among us."

Legolas stared at the council, with no look other than shock. Thranduil stood after him. Elrond, first hesitant, joined them. One by one, the council members stood.

"This is madness!"

"Brother, please, give it up," Lindariel snapped. Legolas stood, approaching the council.

"For centuries," he shouted, "Orcs have ravaged our lands, destroyed our villages, and murdered our women and children! You intend to let them go free?"

"And who here among us can say that it was us?" Sharog asked. Legolas turned to her, glaring. "Those you speak of were all men. Many of them died after. We are not proud of what our husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers have done. Many of them were under the power of Sauron. They were acting on orders. You focus too much on the past, Legolas Thranduilion. In your eyes, Sauron still lives. And with him, the cursed evil of my people. You must have seen much evil to feel so trapped in what is no longer."

As Sharog spoke, the distorted expression on Legolas' face eased away until all that was left of him was understanding and with it, a sense of shame. "That does not excuse your son for abducting my sister."

"I wasn't abducted, Legolas," Lindariel said. "Please believe me when I say I went with him willingly."

"You're sister was injured from her journey," Dursnaga added. "It was our people who healed her and cared for her. Have you no compassion for us? We are not Orcs anymore, but in a sense, we will never truly be Elves either. Have you no pity for your kinsmen who have suffered so much at the hands of Sauron and also by your hands?"

Legolas averted his gaze from Dursnaga to the rest of the council, all waiting expectantly for his answer. He nodded. "Do what you will. I have no power to sway the council's will. I'll spare his life as well," he said with a quick glare at Morfang, who snarled in return.

"What makes you think you were about to kill me?"

"Don't act so tough, Orc. You're injured?"

"This little flesh wound? You call this an injury? I almost got your heart, you big-headed Elf!"

Lindariel and Dursnaga exchanged looks. "This is going to be a common occurance, isn't it?"

"Meh, it's no different from back at Mt. Gram, to be completely honest, a bit less physical though."

Lindariel climbed down and took a big breath, gathering all the courage she could for what she was about to say:

"Enough of this childish banter, you lowlife maggots!" she shouted. Legolas and the council were rendered silent, mouths agape. "If you've energy enough to talk, you can walk yourselves to the Healers! I've had my fair share of idiocy for one life time and I'll be damned if I take anymore!"

Dursnaga laughed. Lindariel blushed. "Anyway, I'm tired of watching you two fight. I'm sick of it. Please, will you try to get along?"

"I'll make an effort if he does." Legolas snarled at Morfang, who smirked. "Are you trying to mimic me? You couldn't pull it off!"

Lindariel turned to Dursnaga for help, knowing that she'd not get far trying to get her brother and Morfang to behave. Dursnaga jumped down, seeing Lindariel's distress.

"Alright you scum!" she bellowed, stomping toward them.

Watching the four youths the council glanced at Thranduil. "What have you to say to this?" Elrond asked.

Thranduil shrugged. "The tale of the Cursed and the Beloved, who'd have thought it'd be a prophecy?" With that, he stood and left…

_Earth, 1991 CE_

The movie theater is crowded with parents and their children. The lights dimmed and a flurry of commercials ran by with little attention. The lights dimmed a little further and curtains that were unnoticed at first drew back to widen the screen. The camera in the back rolled and a dark, low sound began. Following it was a piano plucking a tune.

"_Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, he was spoiled, selfish and unkind. Then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances for beauty was found within. And when he dismissed her away, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a beast and placed a spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose which would bloom for many years. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"_

I know: the ending's a bit weak. I wasn't sure where to stop it, but there you have it. It kind of ran away from me at the end.

Thanks to all who read "The Elf and the Orc." I honestly wasn't sure how it would be recieved, but the support was amazing! I haven't had this much acceptance of a story since "Black Order" when I first joined the fanfiction community approximately six years ago.

Thank you to SurfingSlime, Yin, Patriot16, Kalee Mckay, Alpha-17, and all the readers who did not review! :)

Silverneko9lives0


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